


When we collide

by stilljustbitten



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: (tags will be updated), A lot of firsts, Alternate Universe, Awkward Boners, Blowjobs, Coming Out, First Meeting, Heists, Homophobia, M/M, Martín has a girlfriend, Masturbation, They Can't Drive, and a shitty family, car crash, handjobs, student!Martín, the boys are young
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:01:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 35,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29023161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilljustbitten/pseuds/stilljustbitten
Summary: It is mostly quiet, the same kind of quiet as when you’re just falling asleep and everything around you becomes distant. Or when your ears are full of cotton. But there’s a voice. Unfamiliar. It’s muffled at first, but it becomes gradually clearer, and there’s a peculiar tingling feeling when the body starts to react. Some kind of rush.“Are you okay? Shit. Hey, hey! Look at me.”
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 80
Kudos: 97





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this fic came to me when I read the following lines from a Richard Siken poem:
> 
> _You're by the side of the road and you're doing all the talking  
>  while I stare at my shoes.  
> They're nice shoes, brown and comfortable, and I like your voice._
> 
> It was supposed to be a one-shot, but let's just say, that is not gonna happen, because I keep writing...

Something happened. Everything is dark. Or is it light? It’s hard to say when you can’t see it, when it’s just a feeling inside your head.

Something definitely happened. It’s blurry. The air is thick with the smell of gasoline and burnt rubber, too thick to properly inhale. Exhale. The motion is exhausting, it requires too much, this will have to do. 

It is mostly quiet, the same kind of quiet when you’re just falling asleep and everything around you becomes distant. Or when your ears are full of cotton. But there’s a voice. Unfamiliar. It’s muffled at first, but it becomes gradually clearer, and there’s a peculiar tingling feeling when the body starts to react. Some kind of rush. 

“Are you okay? Shit. Hey, hey! Look at me.”

Martín’s eyes snap open, and he looks directly into a pair of brown eyes that he has never seen before. 

“There you are. How are you feeling? Are you hurt?”

Too many words at once, too many questions. Martín is barely even conscious, and he has no idea how to answer the questions. A quick look around him confirms that he’s in a car. Breathing is easier now, with the fresh night air flowing in through the open door. He takes a deep breath and tries to focus. How is he feeling? He thinks he’s fine. He wants the guy to stop talking. 

“I’m fine,” he croaks out, it doesn’t even sound like himself, and his throat is dry. The guy outside the car relaxes visibly. 

“That’s good.”

As if he doesn’t quite believe Martín, he continues checking up on him. His hands are gentle when they touch Martín’s legs, his shoulders, tilts his head to examine it, and Martín stays still. He doesn’t feel much right now, only a bit dizzy, and the newly arrived ringing in his ears does a great job in trying to drown out the guy’s words.

“What happened?” he asks, and as soon as the words leave his mouth, it all comes back to him. The broken window of the car, shards of glass scattered all over, reflecting the light like stars in a dark sky.

_He has to get home in time. He has to._

_He’s going faster than he should, especially in this weather, but he needs to hurry. He promised his stepfather to bring his car back._

_He’s still tired from staying up last night. He should have left earlier, but his girlfriend insisted that he should stay until they figured everything out. After their fight. He doesn’t know if they did, and he doesn’t really want to think about it either. The volume of the car radio is turned up, blasting out some kind of punk rock, with the sole purpose to drown out the thoughts inside his head._

_But he shouldn’t have stayed for so long, now he’s running late, and he can’t help but feel that he ruined everything. His eyelids are heavy and he has to be home in—_

_He doesn’t see the other car before he’s almost at the intersection but luckily, there’s time to slow down. If it wasn’t for the road being so slippery. He hits the brakes, but the car continues onto the road in front of him, right into the side of the other car, and if this doesn’t kill him, his stepdad sure as hell will._

_There’s a loud crash and everything goes black._

“Stay with me, okay? I’m Andrés. What’s your name?”

“M-Martín.”

There’s a firm hand on his neck and something is pressed to his forehead. When he looks up, he sees the guy holding a napkin with his shaky fingers.

“Martín, listen to me. You had a pretty bad cut on your forehead, some of the glass hit you,” he informs. “I need to stop the bleeding.”

Martín blinks a couple of times and notices how his vision on one eye is clouded. He wipes it with his hand, and there’s blood on it.

“Oh.”

When he wipes his hand in his jeans he immediately regrets it, because he’s never going to get that stain off. 

“You didn’t— did you, uh, call anyone?” he asks, specifically thinking of his stepdad. He places his own fingers on the napkin, pressing it, and Andrés steps back.

“Not yet, I wanted to check on you. I wasn’t sure you—” he trails off. “I wasn’t sure if we were going to need an ambulance.” 

“I’m fine. Shouldn’t we call the police?”

“No!”

The answer comes immediately and with an alertness that makes Martín frown.

“I thought you were supposed to—”

“No,” Andrés repeats, forcing a calm smile. “No need to involve the police. You don’t want to lose your driver’s license, do you?”

When Martín doesn’t answer, because fuck no, he doesn’t want that, Andrés continues:

“We will sort this out, and I know a guy who can help fix the cars. I’ll give him a call. You should stay in the car,” he says before turning around and walking away.

Martín doesn’t want to stay in the car any longer. When he moves his left arm to unfasten the seat belt, there’s a jolt of pain from his shoulder, making him hiss. In need of his right arm, he decides to discard the napkin, frees himself, and steps outside.

He is a little shocked by the sight of the two cars in front of him. They’re pressed together like two pieces of a puzzle, definitely not driving anywhere. Shit.

He doesn’t notice Andrés behind him before he hears his voice.

“The mechanic will be here soon.”

“He’s going to kill me.”

Martín doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but he does. 

“Who’s going to kill you?”

“My stepdad. It’s his car, I was going to return it to him, and now I can’t. I’m sorry. For your car, too. I should have been more careful, I shouldn’t have gone so fast, I’m really sorry. I don’t know what to do.”

There’s a firm hand on his shoulder.

“It’s going to be alright. No one is going to kill you.”

Martín shakes his head frantically, his breathing starting to get faster.

“You don’t know him.”

Andrés looks at him for a while, searching his face.

“It was my fault, okay?”

Martín frowns, making the cut on his forehead hurt.

“What are you talking about? It wasn’t—”

“Listen, Martín, it was my fault. I wasn’t paying attention, and I was going too fast. I should have seen your car coming. Luckily my insurance is going to cover everything, okay, so don’t worry. We’ll get your stepfather’s car fixed, and he will have it back first thing tomorrow. Okay?”

Martín opens his mouth to articulate an answer, but then a car appears down the road, and he can’t think of anything to say. He looks at Andrés, who just keeps looking at the car until it stops in front of him. Only then does his hand leave its firm grip on Martín’s shoulder. 

He stands by the side of the road, watching, while Andrés talks to the mechanic. It seems to be a friend of Andrés’, judging by the way they interact with each other. They take their time examining both of the cars before Andrés comes back to Martín.

“He’ll have someone pick up the cars soon, and he told me it was no problem getting your car back tomorrow. He’s going to need some information from your stepfather, so you should probably call him.”

“Yeah,” Martín says and takes his phone from his pocket. There’s a crack in the screen.

Then he holds it in his shaky hand and continues staring at it.

He has no idea what he’s going to tell his stepdad. How he’s going to reveal that he wasn’t even capable of taking care of his car for one day, without ruining it. That he’s not going to return it today as he promised him. And last, but not least, how he’s going to do it without getting killed. 

He’s been staring at his phone for way too long, he realizes, when he catches Andrés staring at him.

“Do you want me to do it?”

Martín’s thumb is hovering over the green call symbol when Andrés takes the phone from his hand without waiting for the answer. Andrés’ fingers are warm when they graze Martín’s freezing hand.

He once again steps away, just far enough for Martín not to be able to hear his words. He feels pathetic for not even being able to call his own stepdad, but at the same time, he’s grateful that Andrés suggested to do it.

He watches Andrés in the light from the lamppost next to him and wonders where he was going before Martín ruined his evening. He watches the furrowing of his brows before he raises his voice.

“Sir, I am going to need you to calm down. I told you that your car is going to be fine, and you’ll have it back tomorrow.”

Martín doesn’t hear the rest of the conversation, because Andrés once again lowers his voice, but he sees the way he shoots worried glances in Martín’s direction and hears him mentioning his name. 

That’s when the numbness in his body evaporates, and he suddenly feels everything. The pain shooting from the side of his head is powerful enough to make him wince and feel dizzy. He is really cold, but when he tries to fold his arms around himself, his left arm hurts.

“Martín, are you alright?”

He didn’t notice Andrés coming back, but now he’s here, and the way he says _Martín_ sounds really nice. So safe. 

“I don’t know.” 

He isn’t sure if he says the words out loud, or if they’re just in his mind, but that’s the closest to the truth he gets for now. 

“You’re shaking, shit, hey, come here.”

Luckily he’s in Andrés’ arms when he loses his balance, and Andrés maneuvers him into the back of his car. He disappears for a moment, and Martín feels so _cold_ before he reappears with a thick, woolly blanket that he wraps around Martín. 

Andrés has his arms around him, and he’s still talking, while he tries to rub some warmth into Martín’s body.

“Relax. You’re okay now, Martín.”

Martín really likes his voice.

His head is resting against Andrés’ shoulder, and it should feel weird, but it doesn’t. Maybe it’s just because Martín hit his head, or maybe it’s because Andrés makes him feel so safe. His eyelids are heavy and he wants to fall asleep leaning against Andrés. But Andrés has other plans.

“I’ll call a cab. You probably shouldn’t be alone tonight, do you have anyone who could look after you?”

He’s smart enough not to mention Martín’s parents, which makes Martín realize that his stepdad’s reaction to the phone call wasn’t pleasant. 

“Not really.”

“You can come to my place then, just for the night.”

Martín notices a warm sensation inside his chest at the offer, but the thing is, he already ruined this guy’s evening and his car. He doesn’t want to bother him even more.

“Just take me home, my roommate will probably be there.”

Andrés keeps a hand on his shoulder on their way from the cab to the front door of Martín’s apartment. When Andrés follows him inside the apartment, Martín wishes that he spent more time cleaning, and he wonders why that suddenly matters to him. 

“How are you feeling?” Andrés asks, and Martín is getting a little tired of that question. He sits down on a chair in the kitchen.

“Tired. And my head hurts.”

Andrés doesn’t like the answer, judging from the frown on his face.

“You shouldn’t be alone, you might have a concussion. Are you sure your roommate is going to be home soon?”

Martín isn’t sure, he has no idea where Damian is, but he nods.

“Do you have a first aid kit somewhere?”

“The cabinet in the bathroom. Why?”

Andrés is already on his way to the bathroom, Martín can hear the water running.

“The cut on your forehead, it’s still bleeding,” he answers when he returns to the kitchen table and opens the first aid kit. The smell from the hand sanitizer doesn’t help on Martín’s headache. 

“I can take care of it myself,” Martín says in the least convincing tone ever, because he’s completely drained, and he can’t even find the energy to move his arms.

As expected Andrés doesn’t listen to him. He pulls out a chair and sits down in front of Martín, Their knees are touching. Then a piece of cloth is pressed to his forehead.

Martín flinches from the pain and says a sound that he’s not particularly proud of, but Andrés doesn’t react. He’s totally concentrated on stopping the bleeding, and Martín needs to fill the silence. 

“You don’t have to do this.”

He wants to make sure that Andrés knows, because Martín isn’t a kid anymore, and he can treat his own wounds. At least he should be able to. He hasn’t used a first aid kit before.

“I’m not letting you do this yourself, you’ll fall asleep as soon as I leave.”

Martín rolls his eyes.

“I won’t.”

He probably would.

Andrés lifts the cloth slowly and seems satisfied with the result. Then he takes another cloth and starts cleaning the blood off Martín’s face. Martín gets the first chance to really look at him, the way his brown eyes narrow when he concentrates. He shouldn’t be staring at his face like that, but there’s nowhere else to look. 

When Andrés opens a small package of something that Martín has never seen before, he has to ask.

“Are you a doctor?”

Andrés flashes his teeth in a big smile right in front of Martín’s face. 

“I’m definitely not a doctor. I just happen to be very good at patching people up.”

“Where did you learn that?”

Andrés gently dabs some of the stuff from the package on the wound. It stings, but Martín keeps still.

“Well, first of all, I had a very clumsy little brother, that I often had to take care of. I swear, he would trip over his own two feet. He wasn’t one of the wild boys, not at all, but I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve had to take care of his scratches.”

He rummages the first aid box and pulls out some gauze. 

“I also cleaned a bullet wound once.”

Martín, who was almost dozing off listening to Andrés’ calm voice, is suddenly very awake. 

“What?”

“Just a superficial wound, the bullet only grazed the leg. But it really taught me how to stop a bleeding. Keep still.”

He fastens the gauze with some tape over the wound and runs his thumb over it before sitting back, nodding satisfied. 

Martín’s eyes are still wide, and he doesn’t know how to respond to what Andrés just told him. He was so calm, like cleaning a bullet wound is such a normal thing to do. Happens every day. Maybe it was just during a time in the army, or— 

Martín doesn’t get to ask before Andrés talks again.

“I’m going to need your help with this.”

He lifts his arm to the table and only now does Martín see that Andrés, too, is hurt. He feels bad for not noticing it before. His knuckles are bloody, and if the hiss from him when he flexes his fingers is any indication, his hand hurts. 

“What do you need me to do?”

Andrés finds a bandage in the first aid kit and hands it to him.

“I think I sprained my wrist, I need you to wrap it.”

Martín opens the bandage.

“I don’t know—”

“I will guide you. Start with wrapping it around my forearm.”

Andrés lifts his arm from the table. It’s shaking slightly. Martín tries his best not to add any pressure when he wraps the bandage around it. 

“Is it too tight?”

“It’s perfect. Now wrap it here—”

He guides Martín’s hand to wrap the bandage across his palm a couple of times, and Martín secures it with a clip. His fingers are so long, and it shouldn’t catch Martin’s attention in a situation like this. 

“Thank you,” Andrés says and flexes his fingers a bit.

“Do you need help with that, too?” Martín asks, pointing at the bloody knuckles. 

“I’ll clean it when I get home,” he answers and gets up. “Alright, you should get some rest.”

He closes the first aid kit and puts it back in the bathroom, but Martín feels a strange kind of panic at the thought of him leaving. He needs to say something, to make him stay for just a while longer.

“What, uh— what did my stepdad say to you?”

Andrés looks at him for a moment before answering.

“He wasn’t exactly happy about the news, but I got him to calm down. I took all the blame, you have nothing to worry about. I’ll have the car delivered directly to him tomorrow, you don’t have to get involved.”

Martín’s pretty sure he has to get involved, though. His stepdad isn’t the man to let stuff like this go.

“Thank you.”

Andrés smiles at him, not fully flashing his teeth this time, but a small, lopsided smile, too charming for a situation like this.

“Take care,” he says before he disappears out the door.

Martín manages to drag himself to his room and undress before he gets under the blanket. It takes him some time to fall asleep. His head is pounding, and his body is more tired than it has ever been, even after a full night of partying. He should get something for his headache, but he is too exhausted to get out of his bed again. 

He isn’t sure if he should feel bad for lying about Damian being home soon when in reality, he could be away until the next evening. Andrés mentioned something about a concussion, but Martín isn’t sure how bad it is, or if it could do some kind of permanent damage. He’s an engineering student, not a doctor, after all. Unlike Andrés, he has no previous history with car accidents or bullet wounds. 

When he finally falls asleep, it’s not very peaceful. Every now and then he wakes up, often from a dream involving cars crashing together, worried brown eyes, or different types of wounds that have to be treated.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrés raises an eyebrow.
> 
> “Engineering. So you’re supposed to have some knowledge about impact forces, aren’t you? And maybe how it’s necessary to lower the speed when another vehicle is in front of you.“
> 
> “That isn’t even funny,” Martín says, trying to suppress a smile because it is actually funny. 
> 
> “We actually once had this lesson where we had to use Newton’s Third Law to design and build a bumper to protect a car during a crash. You know, to learn about equal and opposite reaction forces. Then we developed a model to generate data for iterative testing, and uh— nevermind”, he says when he notices the slightest of frowns on Andrés’ face. “It was fun.”

Martín wakes up the next morning covered in sweat. The ray of sun in his face combined with his headache makes him wince when he sits up. He didn’t die from whatever happened to his head, which is good, but his pillow is stained with blood, probably from the wound on his forehead. The patch must have fallen off. At least he is able to move his left arm without screaming from pain today.

He hears sounds from the kitchen, which tells him that Damian is home and awake. This must mean that Martín slept for a long time, because it’s Saturday, and Damian never wakes up before him. 

When he opens his door and Damian turns around to look at him, he looks like he’s just seen a ghost.

“What the— Martín, what the fuck happened?”

Martín, still groggy from the sleep, rubs his eyes - and gets blood on his fingers.

“Oh. Sorry. I was in a car accident yesterday.”

“Why aren’t you in the hospital?”

Damien takes a few hesitant steps towards Martín like he’s afraid Martín will collapse in front of him if he moves too suddenly. 

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Martín says before turning to the bathroom to have a look at it. And sure enough, it looks a lot worse than it is, half of his face covered in blood, the other half awfully pale.

“Wow,” he says at the look of his own reflection. He looks hurt, but he can’t deny the fact that he looks a bit like a bad-ass, too.

Damian still doesn’t look convinced.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” 

“Yeah, it’s just a cut, nothing happened,” he says while he starts cleaning the blood off his face. “Except with the car, of course. I fucked that up, so this will probably be the last time you see me before I’m executed by my stepdad.”

“Shit. I’m happy that you’re at least alive now. And I say that not only because I need your help with the assignment that I should have turned in last week, but still haven’t finished.”

“The one about wireless communications?”

“Yep.”

Martín rolls his eyes. This wouldn’t be the first weekend he’d spent doing Damian’s homework. He has no idea how Damian made it this far - or actually, he does. Damian isn’t stupid, he’s just very lazy and doesn’t do stuff until the very last moment, or even later. Martín doesn’t get it, but he helps him out every time because Damian has always been nice to him. 

“Fine, I’ll have a look at it,” he sighs, and Damian pats his back.

When he checks his phone, there’s a couple of missed calls from both his stepdad and his girlfriend. He doesn’t have the energy for either of them, so he puts down the phone and joins Damian for some late breakfast. 

The phone rings in the middle of it, and he figures that he’ll have to face them both sooner or later, so he picks it up with an annoyed “yeah?”

“Martín?”

Oh, he forgot how nice his name sounded in that voice.

“Andrés?”

“I am just calling to check up on you. How are you feeling today?”

“My head still hurts, but otherwise I’m fine.”

“Maybe you should let someone have a look at your head.”

“I’m sure it will get better soon. Wait, why do you even have my number?”

“You don’t remember giving it to me yesterday?”

Martín frowns because no, he doesn’t remember. 

“Uh, no.”

“Well, I guess you hit your head harder than I thought. Anyway, I made an appointment with your stepfather in 30 minutes, and I was wondering if you wanted to come with me? Maybe it would be for the best if I was present when you had to face him.”

Martín clenches his eyes shut. Both at the reminder that he will actually have to face his stepdad. But also the fact that Andrés picked up enough about their relationship that he feels the need to _be there_. Which is completely valid, and might save Martín from having his head ripped off, but it makes him feel like a stupid, little kid. 

“Sure,” he sighs.

“I’ll pick you up in 15 minutes, then. See you.”

And then he hangs up. And Martín panics because he looks like someone who was in a car accident yesterday, and he only has 15 minutes to do something about it.

“Who is Andrés?” Damian asks absentmindedly, picking at his eggs. 

“The guy whose car I crashed into. He’ll pick me up soon, and we’ll deliver the car to my stepdad.”

Damian shoots him a confused look.

“The car, wasn’t it like— ruined?”

Martín shoves the last of his breakfast into his mouth and starts taking off his t-shirt before even leaving the room. 

“It was, but Andrés’ insurance covered it, and he had it fixed. I don’t know who this guy is, but he seems to have some very helpful friends. I doubt that my stepdad will see that as a reason not to kill me, so you’ll have to find someone else to do your homework for you.”

Martín has a quick shower, and for some reason he finds himself rummaging his closet to find the appropriate thing to wear. He doesn’t find anything that is able to cover up his face, so he settles for a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. He tries to cover up his wound with some of the stuff from the first aid kit, but it looks nowhere as good as what Andrés did yesterday. It will have to suffice, he decides, when he hears a knock on the door. 

Andrés doesn’t look like someone who was in a car accident yesterday, which Martín knows for a fact that he was, so that’s just unfair. The only thing that gives it away is the bandage around his hand. Other than that, he’s dressed in a nice shirt and a fancy, navy blazer. Martín doesn’t understand why he is dressed like that, since they’re not going to a party or any formal event, but nevertheless, he immediately feels underdressed. 

As soon as Andrés’ eyes look at Martín, the worried frown on his face reappears, which just confirms that he still looks like shit. Great. 

“Is your head still hurting?”

“Yes,” he answers. _Like it did 15 minutes ago when you asked me _. “Can we just go?”__

__He needs to leave before he regrets his decision about facing his stepdad. He’s already starting to get nervous. Which he absolutely shouldn’t, since he’s 19 years old and doesn’t even live with the man anymore. He shouldn’t be allowed to still have such an effect on Martín, but apparently, that stuff doesn’t go away that easily._ _

__The ride to his previous home is short, and he can’t think of anything to say, so they drive in silence._ _

__“It’s right there,” Martín points out, and Andrés stops the car._ _

__When Andrés steps out, Martín’s stepdad is already in front of the house. Martín clenches his jaw and gets out, too. He keeps in the background, though, when Andrés shakes the hand of his stepdad. He sees the glances his stepdad shoots him, but luckily he’s busy acting like a civilized person in front of Andrés. The decision of bringing Andrés was clearly good._ _

__Andrés shows him the car, which looks even better than it did before the crash, and his stepdad seems satisfied. They exchange some more information before his stepdad walks toward Martín._ _

__“I’m sorry,” Martín says before he even gets there. He winces at how pathetic he sounds. Luckily Andrés is still close enough to make his stepdad act nice._ _

__“You’re lucky that this young man was able to fix the damage you did,” is the only thing he says._ _

__Not a word about Martín, the cut on his forehead, that he was _in a fucking car accident_. That he could have died. None of that. Even though Andrés took the blame for the accident, his stepdad doesn’t waste a second to insinuate that Martín is a failure, that everything is his fault. _ _

__Martín wants to punch him in his face with one of the fists already clenched at his sides, but instead, his traitorous, kid-like voice just repeats:_ _

__“I’m sorry.”_ _

__The look in the eyes of his stepdad isn’t hate, it never was. It’s something far worse. He expected Martín to fuck up, he has probably been waiting for this moment. For Martín to finally confirm how much of a disappointment he is. He nods at him before returning to the house, where Martín’s mother is lingering in the doorway. Her eyes are expressionless._ _

__Martín turns around, not wanting to look at them for one more second. He feels the tension in his body, the clenching of his fists, of his jaw, how he trembles all over. He hates this. He hates how it still gets to him, despite being grown up now._ _

__He slams his fist into the nearest tree to get rid of the tension, and it feels good when his knuckles collide with the rough surface of the bark. Unfortunately, he chose the wrong arm, and the pain from his shoulder makes him hiss through his gritted teeth. He clutches his shoulder with his right hand and takes a few deep breaths not to let the tears pricking behind his eyes show._ _

__He feels like a failure, and he’s embarrassed that Andrés has to see him like this. When he peeks out of the corner of his eye to look at Andrés, he is just waiting politely. Not staring at him, all embarrassed, telling him to stop acting out, like his girlfriend always does. He doesn’t blame her, he wishes that he didn’t have to be like this._ _

__Despite Andrés acting all nice about it, Martín doesn’t want to face him right now, because there will most likely be questions._ _

__A few very long minutes pass before Andrés speaks._ _

__“Do you want to take a walk back?”_ _

__His voice already calms Martín, who decides that taking a walk might be a good idea._ _

__“Sure.”_ _

__Andrés starts walking, and Martín just follows him. He feels like he’ll have to say something to prevent Andrés from asking about what happened._ _

__“Did you get your own car back from the mechanic?”_ _

__“Nah, not yet. I guessed that your stepfather’s car was more important, so I asked him to fix that first.”_ _

__Martín buries his hands in his pockets._ _

__“It looked good. Thank you for taking care of it.”_ _

__“No problem. Listen, Martín, I could really use a drink - do you want to join me? Maybe to get your mind off everything for a while.”_ _

__Andrés gestures toward a bar that Martín had never seen before, or just not noticed because it looked too fancy for anything he would spend his money on._ _

__“I could definitely use a drink,” he agrees._ _

__Andrés orders two beers, they’re actually not too expensive, which doesn’t matter at all, though, since Andrés pays for them both._ _

__As soon as Martín sits down, he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket. It’s Damian._ _

__“What?” Martín answers._ _

__“Mia has been calling me because you’re not picking up your damn phone. Care to explain to me what that is about?”_ _

__Mia. Martín’s head starts pounding._ _

__“We had a fight. It’s nothing. I just can’t deal with it right now.”_ _

__“Did you tell her you were almost killed?”_ _

__“I wasn’t almost killed, and no, I didn’t tell her about yesterday.”_ _

__“Either you’re going to tell her, or I will.”_ _

__Martín wants to argue with Damian, because since when did he get so invested in Martín’s relationship? But Andrés is waiting patiently across the small table, he hasn’t even touched his beer yet. So Martín tells Damian that he will take care of it, and puts away his phone._ _

__Andrés eyes him, obviously trying to decide if he should ask. But apparently, Martín looks as exhausted as he feels, so Andrés doesn’t say anything and lifts his beer._ _

__“Cheers.”_ _

__Martín smiles. He smiles because of the weird situation he’s in. He crashed into this guy’s car yesterday, and now they’re in a bar together, and he has no idea how that happened. He smiles because it’s so ridiculous, he’s ignoring his girlfriend’s phone calls, drinking beer with a stranger, and Andrés doesn’t even look like he gives it second thoughts._ _

__“This seems like a nice place. Have you been here before?”, Martín asks. The bar doesn’t feel quite as fancy as it looked from the outside, the atmosphere is nice and relaxed._ _

__“Never. I actually moved here recently, and I haven’t had the chance to explore the city yet. How long have you lived here?”_ _

__“I moved here when I started studying at the university, and I’m almost done with my first year.”_ _

__“What are you studying?”_ _

__“Civil engineering.”_ _

__Andrés raises an eyebrow._ _

__“Engineering. So you’re supposed to have some knowledge about impact forces, aren’t you? And maybe how it’s necessary to lower the speed when another vehicle is in front of you.“_ _

__“That isn’t even funny,” Martín says, trying to suppress a smile because it is actually funny._ _

__“We actually once had this lesson where we had to use Newton’s Third Law to design and build a bumper to protect a car during a crash. You know, to learn about equal and opposite reaction forces. Then we developed a model to generate data for iterative testing, and uh— nevermind”, he says when he notices the slightest of frowns on Andrés’ face. “It was fun.”_ _

__Andrés’ frown disappears, and he sends Martín a wide smile._ _

__“You seem passionate about it.”_ _

__“Well, I like it.”_ _

__Martín takes a big gulp of his beer to protect himself from saying any more. To say that he likes his study might be the understatement of the year, and he always gets caught up in his excitement and starts rambling. He doesn’t want to annoy Andrés with more irrelevant information._ _

__“What about you, what are you doing here?”_ _

__“I moved here because I finished my studies and wanted to try something new. Actually, I moved here because of my girlfriend, but we broke up. It’s alright, though, this city is way more interesting than where I lived before, so I’m not leaving anytime soon.”_ _

__“Yeah, I guess it’s a nice city. What are you doing for a living?”_ _

__Martín downs the rest of his beer and feels the pleasant buzz in his body. This was much needed after yesterday’s adventures. He leans back and smiles._ _

__“I’m doing a sabbatical year, trying to figure out what I want to spend the rest of my life doing. I like to paint.”_ _

__“So you’re an artist?”_ _

__Andrés chuckles._ _

__“I won’t call myself an artist. I just like painting to clear my mind.”_ _

__“That sounds like something an artist would say. What kind of paintings are you doing?”_ _

__“I like to experiment with different materials for my paintings. I mostly use acrylic paint, but also oil sticks, Indian ink, and different powders. I also like to vary the equipment I use, it gets so boring only using a brush all the time. You would be surprised by the different expressions you’re able to create if you just dare to step a little out of your comfort zone.”_ _

__Okay, so Martín isn’t the only one who is able to ramble about his interests. He has no idea what Indian ink is, and how it differs from any other kind of ink, but with the passion burning behind Andrés’ words he wants to find out._ _

__“That sounds so cool. I would like to see your paintings someday.”_ _

__The words fly out of Martín’s mouth before he has any time to think. There was never any actual indication that they were going to see each other again, and yet Martín just basically invited himself to Andrés’ home. Nice move._ _

__To his relief, Andrés looks rather pleased by Martín’s interest in his hobby._ _

__“I would like to show them to you. Do you want another beer?”_ _

__“Sure.”_ _

__With the second beer, his headache is slowly disappearing. His interest in Andrés’ art has really got Andrés talking, and Martín hears most of what he’s saying. Which techniques he’s using, which painters he likes. He probably won’t remember their names tomorrow, because there’s something about Andrés that makes it hard to focus on his words._ _

__Maybe it’s the way he gestures wildly with his hands when he talks, or the way his eyes shine with the excitement of a 5-year old. It could be the soothing sound of his voice, raspy and yet smooth like velvet, or the way his smile is lopsided in a way so charming that Martín has to smile every time it appears._ _

__At some point, Andrés seems to run out of words about painters, and he starts absentmindedly picking at the bandage._ _

__“How’s your hand?”_ _

__Andrés lifts his hand and flexes his fingers carefully._ _

__“Better. I hope it stops hurting soon, because I normally use both hands for painting, and it’s nearly impossible to hold a brush with this thing around my hand. How’s your arm?”_ _

__“Oh.” Martín becomes aware that he has been clutching it while Andrés was talking, and removes his hand. “I think I hurt it yesterday. And then again today.”_ _

__He lets out a small, embarrassed laugh at his own stupidity, and takes a sip of his beer. Andrés doesn’t laugh, and Martín knows that he wants to ask about what happened today. He doesn’t want him to ask._ _

__“I think I should get home,” he interrupts the silence before Andrés has a chance to ask. “I have to study a lot tomorrow.”_ _

__He hates himself a little, because he doesn’t want to go home, but he also doesn’t want to tell Andrés about his family._ _

__“What a shame,” Andrés says and finishes his beer, “I enjoyed your company.”_ _

__Martín feels something in his stomach, like the wing of a butterfly fluttering. It’s a vague feeling, but nevertheless, it leaves him unable to speak._ _

__Right before they part ways outside the bar, Andrés says:_ _

__“I could use a guide for this city, though, if you want to show me. It doesn’t have to be tomorrow if you’re busy.”_ _

__“I don’t have to study all day,” Martín says quickly. Andrés doesn’t smile, but the corner of his mouth surely twitches._ _

__“Perfect. Think of your favorite places, I want to see them.”_ _

__“Don’t get your expectations up, I don’t know any fancy places like this one. I’m a poor student, remember?”_ _

__He tries to make it sound like a joke, but he’s partly serious. Martín already feels a bit intimidated by the way Andrés dresses, and he can’t even imagine the places he’s used to visiting. He’s hardly the guy you take to McDonald’s._ _

__“They don’t have to be fancy, Martín. Call me tomorrow?”_ _

__“Sure.”_ _

__Martín smiles all the way back to his apartment because _Andrés wants to see him again_. The smile disappears when he realizes that he has to call Mia. She deserves that. Mia is a genuinely sweet person, and Martín really likes her. He doesn’t want to hurt her, he never intends to, and yet he does it all the time. He isn’t sure how things are between them after their argument yesterday, but at least she has been calling him._ _

__

__“Hey, it’s me. Mia, I’m sorry I haven’t answered your calls. Things have been kind of hectic.”_ _

__“What do you mean?”_ _

__Mia sounds tired, and he can’t blame her._ _

__He tells her about the car accident, and as expected, she worries way too much and ends up telling him that she will come over, despite him insisting that he needs to rest._ _

__She even brings dinner, and she kisses him and takes care of his wound, and Martín feels bad. Bad because he doesn’t feel anything. They eat dinner seated on his bed when Mia sighs and puts down her empty plate._ _

__“We should probably talk about yesterday.”_ _

__“Yeah,” Martín agrees and looks expectantly at her because he has no idea what to say._ _

__“I’m not sure I can keep doing this.”_ _

__Martín’s initial feeling is one of relief, but then a knot appears in his stomach. Mia isn’t just his girlfriend, she is a very good friend, and he likes spending time with her. What is he going to do without her? He would never be able to find a girlfriend as tolerant as her. No one else would tolerate the lack of physical affection like she does, the amount of excuses and promises to do better when he knows too well that it will never get better._ _

__He doesn’t want to admit it, but his biggest fear is losing his cover. As long as he has a girlfriend, no one questions his sexuality._ _

__She deserves better, but he can’t help it. He needs to protect himself._ _

__“I’m sorry, Mia. I know I’ve been a shitty boyfriend.” He takes her hand. “Next semester will probably be less stressful. I’m really trying. What do you need me to do?”_ _

__When he looks into her eyes, he sees the guilt. She squeezes his hand and lets go of it._ _

__“You shouldn’t have to worry about this right after being in a car accident, Martín. I’m sorry, let’s talk about it another day. Get some rest.”_ _

__She kisses his cheek before leaving, and Martín lies down on his bed with a sigh of relief._ _


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Standing next to Andrés by the water, in silence, both of them just looking, it occurs to him that maybe this location is too romantic for a meeting with a guy whose car you just crashed into two days ago. 
> 
> Andrés is quiet next to him, the sound of his calm breathing audible in the silence, and Martín blushes at the thought, feeling the need to say something.
> 
> “This is, uh—”
> 
> “This is a nice place,” Andrés says at the same time as Martín speaks. 
> 
> They look at each other, both smiling, and the awkwardness is gone.

_“Think of your favorite places, I want to see them.”_

Andrés made it sound so easy, as if Martín just had a list of places to pick from. But where exactly do you take a guy who you just met? With an emphasis on guy, because dinner and a movie surely wouldn’t be fitting for their non-romantical setup.

And sure, Andrés said that the places didn’t have to be fancy, but Martín scratched the local burger joint from the list - even though they make killer fries - because it didn’t have to be too cheap, either. 

He wanted to pick something with food, though, because food is always a good place to start. So he ended up choosing his favorite place to eat near the university. 

When they turn around the corner, Martín suddenly becomes very self-conscious. What if Andrés doesn’t like the place? He usually goes here with his friends from the university, but they’re students, and Andrés is— well, something else. He said that the places didn’t have to be fancy, but maybe just a little bit fancier than a food stall serving paella. What if he doesn’t even like paella?

“Is that paella?” Andrés asks when he sees the food stall.

“Don’t you like paella?” Martín asks, his tone maybe a little too worried.

Andrés chuckles, apparently finding Martín’s worries amusing.

“I like paella.”

Martín notices to his disappointment that the few tables around the stall are pretty crowded. He should have known, it’s not like he’s never been here before. 

When they get near the stall, the owner looks up from the pan and spots Martín. 

“Martín,” he greets him in a cheerful voice. 

“Hey, Paulo.”

“Why didn’t you call? I would have prepared something for you, we’re almost out now, it’s late you know.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll just take whatever you have left.”

“Who’s your friend? I don’t think I’ve seen this one before.”

“This is— “

“Andrés,” Andrés presents himself, smiling politely at Paulo. “I just moved here, and Martín is my guide to the town. Apparently, your food stall is important enough for him to make it the first thing he wants to show me.” 

Martín swears that Paulo is blushing at those words. 

“Well, Martín, I’m honored.” Paulo looks quickly around him to make sure that no other customers need his attention. Everyone seems satisfied and about to finish their dinner. “Come here, let me treat you with some wine.”

They follow Paulo to the door on the side of the stall and wait while he opens a bottle of wine and pours it into two plastic cups. Martín doesn’t miss the way Andrés’ eyebrow rises, perhaps involuntarily, at the thought of serving wine in a plastic cup. But he accepts the cup with a smile and a “thank you” when Paulo hands it to him. 

“Gentlemen, what kind of paella do you prefer? I will cook it for you.”

“I’ll just have the regular seafood paella, thanks,” Martín answers.

“Same for me,” Andrés says.

“Coming right up.”

Paulo disappears to prepare the food, and leaves Martín and Andrés alone.

“I’m sure that people will start leaving soon, and there will be a free table for us,” Martín says almost apologetically. “The stall closes soon, but Paulo never refuses me my paella.”

Andrés smiles fondly and sips at his wine.

“It’s a decent wine, actually. A bit of a shame to pour it into a plastic cup.”

“I thought you would say that,” Martín chuckles. 

“So, I guess you come here often?”

“Yeah, some would say too often. But it's a really nice paella, cheaper than in the restaurants, too. And I always get free wine.”

Andrés looks at him with slightly narrowed eyes.

“I wasn’t sure if you were the wine-drinking type.”

“Are you insinuating that I’m not a civilized human being? Or that I’m just too poor to drink wine? Because the latter is pretty close to the truth, which explains my preference for free wine.”

Andrés flashes his teeth in a big smile, and Martín notices how much it means to him that he is able to make Andrés smile.

“Do you know anything about wine, then?”

“Nothing. Most wines taste just the same to me.”

Andrés looks like Martín just personally offended him, rolling his eyes, but smirking.

The sun is starting to set, but it’s a warm evening, so it doesn’t really matter. It just adds some charm to the place, when the streets around them become quieter and the dim lights from the decorative light bulbs light up the stall.

As Martín expected, the other customers soon finish their food and start leaving. When Paulo informs them that their paella is ready, all of the tables are empty, and Martín and Andrés are the only customers left.

“Here you go.”

Paulo places the plates of smoking hot, freshly cooked paella in front of them. 

“I hope the paella lives up to your expectations, senor,” he says, directed at Andrés. 

He places the bottle of wine on the table, too.

“You might as well finish this, I’m closing for tonight, anyway, and I’m driving home.”

Paulo starts removing the tables around them, and after a couple of minutes, they’re left to themselves.

When Andrés takes the first forkful of his paella, Martín eyes him nervously. It’s not like he made the food, but he feels a bit responsible for dragging Andrés here. While chewing the food, Andrés notices that Martín is staring at him, and he smiles, a smile that reaches his eyes and makes them narrow in a too charming way.

“It’s really delicious, don’t worry,” he says after swallowing the food, Martín doesn’t even have to ask.

“Good.”

Martín lets out a relieved breath.

“It might be the best paella I ever had.”

“Really?”

Martín beams at him and starts eating, too.

“Really. You were right. And Paulo is very nice, too.”

Right on cue, Paulo has finished closing the stall and returns to their table. 

“How do you like the food, senor Andrés?”

“It tastes wonderful, thank you. It’s probably the best paella I ever had. And your service has been exquisite, Paulo. It’s certainly not the last time I’ll have my dinner here.” 

Paulo doesn’t even know how to cope with Andrés’ charm, and Martín completely relates to that. 

“Thank you for your kind words, I am flattered.” He makes a small bow. “I’m done for today, so I’ll leave you to it. Enjoy your dinner, and please, stay as long as you want. If you will please just turn off the lights when you’re leaving.”

When Paulo is gone, Martín says to Andrés:

“He loves you.”

Martín smiles at him, that damn crooked smile, and winks.

“Yeah, nobody is able to resist my charm.”

When Martín’s cheeks heat up, he blames the wine. Luckily, it’s almost dark around them, and the only light comes from the small light bulbs attached to the stall, so there’s little chance Andrés is able to see the blush. 

They eat in silence for a while, before Andrés pours the rest of the wine into their glasses.

“For how long have you and that girlfriend of yours been together?”

For some reason, Martín isn’t really interested in discussing his girlfriend with Andrés.

“About six months.”

“That sounds serious. Where did you meet?”

“We met at a party at the university.”

Martín tries to keep his answers as short as possible because he isn’t quite comfortable with the subject, but Andrés keeps pressing.

“And you’re happy?”

Martín fiddles with his fork on his now empty plate. He has no reason to lie to Andrés, it’s not like he knows Mia or any of their friends. He considers his answer for a while when his eyes meet Andrés’ briefly, but he has to look away again. He shrugs.

“I don’t know.” 

It’s nice to tell this to Andrés, even if he can’t tell the true reason behind it. Like another layer of his facade being peeled off, making him breathe a little easier. He can feel Andrés’ eyes on him, and he can’t look back up. Apparently, Andrés finally decides to stop the investigation. He drinks the last of his wine and asks:

“What have you planned for us to do now?”

Martín’s eyes become wide.

“Uh, I didn’t plan anymore, I didn’t know—”

“Relax, I’m just kidding,” Andrés cuts him off, a wide smile on his face. “We don’t have to do anything.” 

Martín mirrors the smile when he suddenly gets an idea. 

“I know a place nearby if you don’t want to go home yet.”

It’s a small park, hidden in between the buildings in the center of the city. Most people don’t know of its existence, which is why Martín likes going there. Alone. Andrés is the first person he brings with him to the park. He’s not sure why, it just felt natural.

The park consists of a small pond surrounded by trees, a few benches, and a lawn. He usually comes here when he needs a break from everything, finding the surroundings perfect to clear his mind. 

This evening, the trees reflect in the still water of the pond, and the ducks normally living there are nowhere to be seen, probably sleeping in the bushes. What always fascinated Martín is the contrast between this quiet, hidden place and the city surrounding it, always alive with lights and people.

Standing next to Andrés by the water, in silence, both of them just looking, it occurs to him that maybe this location is too romantic for a meeting with a guy whose car you just crashed into two days ago. 

Andrés is quiet next to him, the sound of his calm breathing audible in the silence, and Martín blushes at the thought, feeling the need to say something.

“This is, uh—”

“This is a nice place,” Andrés says at the same time as Martín speaks. 

They look at each other, both smiling, and the awkwardness is gone. 

“It’s almost always quiet. I usually come here when I don’t want to be near other people. Actually, I never use the benches, I sit down by the tree over there.”

Without another word, Andrés starts walking to the tree, and Martín follows him. He sits down on his usual spot, and Andrés sits down next to him, close enough for their shoulders to touch. He pulls his legs up and folds his hands around them.

“I had a place like this, where I lived before,” Andrés says, resting his hands in his lap. “A place where I used to go when everything was too much and I just wanted to be alone. There was this forest near my house, and deep inside it, where people almost never got to, was this small hill with a bench on the top. Always quiet, except for the chirping of birds, and the view was wonderful.”

Martín tries to imagine the place in his mind. There’s something intimate about Andrés sharing this with him, his secret place, but also telling Martín that he, too, sometimes gets enough of everything. Most people probably feel this way, but most of them don't admit it to somebody they barely know. 

Martín’s thoughts are distracted when Andrés shifts next to him, and their shoulders brush. Being this close to Andrés calms him down, but at the same time, it alerts his body, makes his heart beat faster. 

“How is your arm?”

Martín grabs it absentmindedly when he answers. 

“A lot better than yesterday.”

“Do you want to talk about it? The thing with your stepfather, I mean.”

Martín closes his eyes and lets out a breath through his nose.

“Not really.”

But the thing is, he is no longer as opposed to talking about it as he was yesterday. He never wanted to share any of that before, but something about Andrés makes him want to open up, and he is equally happy and scared about that. Martín isn’t the type who _opens up_. He has learned not to do that. It’s not that he isn’t social, that he doesn’t enjoy the company of other people. He has friends, sure, but they don’t really know much about him. It’s for the best, though, because if they knew, he probably wouldn’t have friends any longer.

But maybe it’s different with Andrés. It feels different.

“He never liked me,” Martín begins, shifting uncomfortably, but staying close to Andrés. “But you’re probably already aware of that. It’s not like he cared about me at all after the accident. He didn’t give a shit about me and my injury, while he was busy checking on his stupid car.”

Andrés doesn’t say anything, so Martín continues.

“I was never good enough, and he didn’t waste any chances to tell me that. No matter what I did, I disappointed him. And my mom. You have no idea how much time I’ve wasted trying to prove myself. At least he never hit me, I guess I should be grateful for that.”

“What about your dad?”

_His dad_. It’s been years since he last talked about his dad. He isn’t supposed to. Or at least he wasn’t when he lived at home, and now it has become an integrated part of him, making him shut up whenever anybody mentions the word. This time is no different.

The lump is building in his throat, and he isn’t able to get any words past it. Part of him is angry at Andrés for asking about his dad, because it is none of his business, and they barely know each other. But he couldn’t have known. Most people don’t mind normal questions about their families. The only sound is the quiet rustling of the leaves in the gentle breeze, and Martín wants to speak, but he knows that if he forced out any words, his voice would give away his feelings. He would sound weak. It’s better to remain quiet. 

Andrés places his hand on Martín’s arm. Squeezes it reassuringly. 

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to talk about it.”

He doesn’t remove his hand. It stays there while Martín just breathes, tries to calm down, until the lump in his throat shrinks and the tears welling up in his eyes retreat. It stays until Martín moves, decides to get up, because he doesn’t like to feel this vulnerable, and he needs to get out of there. 

He feels Andrés’ wary eyes on him, when he, too, gets up, but Martín can’t look at him. He feels bad for ruining the evening. 

“Thank you for showing me these places today,” Andrés says while brushing the grass off his pants. 

“Yeah, no problem.”

He wants to tell Andrés that he really enjoyed his company tonight. How happy he is that he was the first person he brought here, to his secret hiding place. That he doesn’t want the evening to end. 

But he can’t say any of this. He shouldn’t. 

“Are you doing anything when you’re off tomorrow?” Andrés asks when they reach Martín’s apartment. 

“I’m going to see my girlfriend tomorrow.”

“Oh. The day after tomorrow, then? It’s my turn to show you a place.”

Martín looks at Andrés for the first time since the park and smiles. 

“Sure. I’m home at 4.”

“I’ll come to pick you up then.”

Martín manages to occupy his mind with a bunch of equations when he is left alone. He manages to do all of his homework for the following week, just to escape his thoughts. But when he lies in bed at 1 AM his thoughts start racing.

He isn’t sure what’s going on with Andrés. Being a man of logic, he has a need to label things, but he can’t find the right label for Andrés. 

Andrés, who he just met, but who makes him want to open up. Makes him want to tell stuff that he never told anybody before. Maybe it’s because Andrés seems to genuinely care for Martín ever since the car accident. He kept asking about his head, his arm, how he was feeling. The gentle touches and his ability to calm Martín down. Thinking of the car accident he remembers already feeling safe around Andrés back then, for no particular reason. Andrés just seems so calm, so collected even in the most stressful situations, when Martín has always been the exact opposite. He’s rational, sure, but when he’s stressed he tends not to react at all or become overwhelmed by his emotions. Andrés already saw some of that, too much of that, so the most important question is, why does he even care about Martín?

He falls asleep before he reaches a conclusion. 

“I hope you like museums.”

It’s not like Martín hates museums, per se, it’s just never really been his thing. Maybe he never visited the right museum, but he always found it quite boring, walking around and looking at art. But he can’t say that to Andrés, not now, standing in front of a museum that Andrés chose to show him.

“Yeah, museums are great.”

He’s not sure how convincing it sounds, but Andrés smiles at him, so it might have worked. At least it will be nice to go inside, because the sun is hot today, and Martín’s t-shirt is sticking to his skin. He just got home to have a quick shower and a change of clothes after a long day at the university, but he might as well not have. 

“This” — Andrés gestures at the building — “is the main building of the museum. And the part over there is the place where they take the art when it has to be restored. Let’s go inside and enjoy the air conditioning.”

It’s nice inside the museum, and at this part of the day not too crowded, either. Andrés rejects all of the flyers being offered to him at the entrance, so Martín does the same. He expects Andrés to be his guided tour, anyway, and Andrés doesn’t disappoint. 

They enter the first room, and Martín takes a few steps before he notices that Andrés stopped at the first painting. He wonders if Andrés is going to tell him a tale about every painting in the museum, because it’s going to be a long day, and the heat has made him really tired. But as soon as Andrés opens his mouth, Martín forgets about the heat, about everything, really.

It’s fascinating how much Andrés knows about all of those painters. Martín didn’t expect it, but he finds himself asking interested questions about the lives of the painters and actually listening to the answers. 

The paintings still don’t mean much to Martín, most of them are just boring or downright weird. It’s the weird ones Andrés seems most interested in. Martín looks at them and doesn’t see anything other than lines or dots, but when Andrés starts deciphering them, it all just makes sense. 

About halfway through the museum, Martín’s brain starts shutting down. He’s managed to stay awake and interested for a long time, but now he feels the weight of a long day stuffed with numbers and equations and that damn heat. So he’s kind of inside his own head when Andrés stops and he finds himself in front of a drawing with a rather huge penis on it. He blinks twice, and Andrés chuckles. 

“Yeah, that would be Dalí.”

Martín frowns, wondering. 

“Wait, isn’t Dalí the one with those melting clocks or whatever it was?”

“You’re right. This one looks a little more like those.”

He points to the painting next to the penis-painting.

“Is that a—”

“Yes, that is also a penis, although a bit smaller. This one is called _The great masturbator_. You would be surprised how many of Dalí’s paintings have a sexual meaning. His works are often very erotically loaded. Did you know that Dalí masturbated quite a lot? It freaked him out because he thought it would make him impotent. His fear of castration is also a general theme in his paintings.” 

“Uh, no, I did not know that.”

Martín isn’t quite sure how it makes him feel to hear Andrés talking about penises and masturbation. The painting itself makes no sense to Martín, but he sees the head of a woman, her mouth directly in front of a penis. Andrés is staring at it in wonder, and suddenly it’s almost impossible for Martín not to imagine that his mouth— 

Nope, he is not doing this. He is not letting some freaky, surrealist painting turn him on. In an urgent need of distraction he turns his head, and yes, there are the damn melting clocks. Way better. Without any further comments, he moves on and fakes a sudden interest in those, letting the air conditioning cool him down. 

“Enough for today?” Andrés asks.

Martín blinks to focus on his face. He has apparently been staring into nothingness once again.

“Sorry, it’s just been a long day. No, I’m alright, let’s continue.”

“Let’s grab a cup of coffee instead,” Andrés says, and Martín can’t deny that he likes to hear that. 

The museum has a nice little café with some tables outside. They have spent a couple of hours inside, and the temperature is more pleasant now, with the sun hidden behind the buildings. There’s even a small breeze. Andrés arrives with two cups of coffee, some biscotti, and a glass of water for Martín.

Martín drinks the water eagerly.

“Thank you.” 

“You looked like you needed it. So, what do you think of the museum?”

“Definitely more interesting than I thought it would be,” Martín admits. “I wasn’t expecting all the dicks.” 

Andrés almost spits out the coffee he just took in his mouth, and Martín has to laugh, too. 

“I’m sorry, I should have warned you about the erotic content,” Andres says as he wipes away a drop of coffee making its way down his chin. 

Martín’s eyes linger there for a while before traveling up to the wet lips, and he can’t seem to drag his attention away from them. When he finally does, he feels Andrés’ stare on him, and he hesitantly looks up into his eyes - and Andrés’ eyes are glistening, eyeing him carefully, like he knows exactly how much Martín wants to know how those lips feel. Like he sees right through him, observes the pieces of the puzzle connecting inside Martín’s head when he realizes that not only is Andrés nice and caring, but he’s also kind of beautiful. And at that moment, it doesn’t feel wrong at all, thinking this about another guy, he almost forgets himself when their moment of eye contact by far exceeds the limit of what is socially acceptable. 

Then a chair is dragged over the ground at the table next to them, and the noise shifts Martín’s focus back to reality. A reality far more complex than the one that just existed between the two of them when they were looking into each other’s eyes. And Martín really has to focus not to get caught up in the color of Andrés' eyes, the way strands of his dark hair stick to the sweat on his forehead, or how his elegant fingers wrap loosely around his cup of coffee.

_Shit_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And he starts thinking of Andrés, of course, he does. When he finds himself outside, leaning against a wall, looking at the building across the street. He wants to tell Andrés about the construction of that building, about its weak points, and how little it would take for it to collapse. Or is he talking about himself right now?
> 
> He wants to collapse. He needs Andrés to know. It’s only fair if Andrés knows who he _really_ is when they’re spending so much time together. Or maybe the real reason that he wants Andrés to know is that he’s tired of carrying that weight on his own shoulders.

Martín spends far too long aiming his throw for the cup on the opposite end of the table.

“Come on, Martín, shut off that engineer part of your brain and quit calculating the angle,” Damian shouts at him, impatiently. 

Martín laughs because that’s absolutely not what he’s doing, but he would totally be doing that if he wasn’t too drunk to focus on calculations. 

He makes an attempt to hit the cup, but misses, and sighs. He should have tried to calculate because, with his luck, he’s going to end up very drunk tonight. Especially because Damian doesn’t miss this time, and Martín has to down yet another beer in a very short time. At least the game is over now because damn, he needs a break from the beer. 

After having some fun jumping up and down on the dance floor, pretending to dance, Martín slumps down on the couch, and Damian returns with some shots. Martín frowns. It’s probably those licorice shots because Damian loves those, and Martín really shouldn’t do shots right now. To be fair, he never should. But he downs a couple anyway before he leans back and closes his eyes.

“She’s really into you,” Damian interrupts the peace in his mind.

“Huh?” Martín says as he opens his eyes, just in time to see a girl turn her head away from him and giggle to her friend. He recognizes her from the dance floor where she kept bumping into him.

“Are things still, uh, complicated with Mia?” Damian tries again to start a conversation. Martín isn’t up for conversation.

“Do we really have to talk about that now?”

He sighs.

“Nah,” Damian starts, taking another shot. “I’m just saying that I would totally do her. I mean, if I wasn’t already taken. Look at those boobs.”

Martín doesn’t look at those boobs.

“Do you ever think about anything other than sex?” he asks, the annoyance in his voice barely hidden. 

Damian laughs at him.

“I’m 19, of course, I don’t think about anything other than sex. It’s not my fault you only use your brain to think about engineering. I swear it’s not normal. Do you have sex with Mia at all?”

Martín frowns.

He doesn’t understand Damian. He doesn’t really understand most of his friends, to be fair. It seems like all they ever think about, all they ever talk about, is sex. How much sex they want to have, how much sex they already have with their girlfriends, all the fucking time. They never seem to shut up about it. Martín doesn’t get it. It’s not like he doesn’t have sex, he just— doesn’t enjoy it. And he knows the reason. He never had sex with anyone he’s attracted to. Maybe, if he tried that, he would understand the hype. But right now everyone just thinks he’s too much of a nerd, too invested in his studies to enjoy his youth. And he guesses it’s better than if they knew the truth.

He jabs Damian in his ribs. 

“No way I’m going to discuss my sex life with you right now. I’m here to have fun.”

And he does have a lot of fun. The only problem is that when he gets too drunk, it becomes harder for him to differ between the Martín everyone knows and the Martín he really is. The Martín who is attracted to guys. And he has to work damn hard not to overstep any boundaries, not to accidentally say anything to blow up his cover. But he learned from his mistakes, and the years have made him better at keeping up his facade.

He still remembers the time he got way too drunk at a party at the beginning of the semester - or, actually, he doesn’t remember, because he was wasted. But he did say or do something to a guy from one of the other classes, nobody has ever told him exactly what, and he didn’t dare ask, but suddenly there was a rumor that Martín was gay. He might not remember the incident at the party, but the feeling of everybody talking about him is still very vivid. 

That was the exact moment he knew that he had to get himself a girlfriend. 

He often wonders how it would have been if he didn’t. If he just admitted it back then. He likes to think that everything would have been easier now, that he would no longer have to hide. But the truth is probably that he would have been rejected by everyone, and everything would have been a lot worse than it is now. 

But he’s so tired of hiding all the time. 

And he starts thinking of Andrés, of course, he does. When he finds himself outside, leaning against a wall, looking at the building across the street. He wants to tell Andrés about the construction of that building, about its weak points, and how little it would take for it to collapse. Or is he talking about himself right now?

He wants to collapse. He needs Andrés to know. It’s only fair if Andrés knows who he really is when they’re spending so much time together. Or maybe the real reason that he wants Andrés to know is that he’s tired of carrying that weight on his own shoulders. 

Yes, this is definitely the perfect time to call Andrés. 

He takes his phone from his pocket and it slides right out of his hand and lands on the grass. Luckily just on the grass. He checks it for damage, but it’s fine. Then he unlocks it, it only takes him a few tries, and finds Andrés’ name among his contacts.

He wants to go somewhere quiet, but his legs do not agree. It’s like they completely forgot how to take him anywhere, and when he wants to follow the path around the house, they steer him into the nearest bush instead. He loses his balance and sits down on the grass.

Well, it’s not uncomfortable, and it smells nice. Very green.

“Hello.”

“Andrés,” Martín says, grinning stupidly. Wow, his name sounds so good. The way the 'r' and the 's' complement each other. He needs to say it again. “Andrésss.” He exaggerates the 's' a bit, but it still sounds beautiful.

“Martín?”

“You have a beautiful name.”

“Are you drunk?”

“No. I mean, yes. I’m at a party. I’m on— the grass. I was thinking, I need to talk to you, Andrés. I don’t know where you live, but uh—” he looks down the empty street “—yeah, it’s pretty dark. If you tell me where you live, I can find it. I have a flashlight on my phone.”

He’s sure that he hears Andrés chuckle, and he’s a little offended. Why would he doubt Martín’s sense of direction?

“Are you sure you’re in a state to walk anywhere?”

“Of course I am. I’ll just figure out how to get up from here.”

Martín struggles to get to his feet, and he might drop the phone a couple of times. 

“Martín? Are you alright?”

Suddenly he finds himself in a vertical position, and he feels very proud. 

“I did it! I got up. Just tell me the direction, okay? I am outside the university. It’s not far. Should I walk left or right?”

“I’ll pick you up, Martín. Don’t go anywhere.”

The tone of Andrés’ voice has shifted from amused to worried.

“No! No Andrés, I can handle it, I swear. If you don’t want to see me, just say it, I will just walk home instead, or go back to the party or—” 

“Stay where you are.”

Martín sighs heavily into the phone, adding a dramatic effect, but Andrés already hung up. 

Damn, that guy should really get off his high horse. Martín is totally going to prove him wrong, he will be at his doorstep before he even gets out of the house. He slumps back down on the soft grass and starts researching. 

Opening the search engine on his phone, Martín enters the name “Andrés” and— there are so many results. Didn’t Andrés mention his last name at any point? It’s going to be impossible to find his address without any other information than just “Andrés”. His phone number! Martín tries entering it, but there are no matches found.

When he’s still deeply focused on his search Andrés’ car pulls up on the street right in front of him. He almost doesn’t recognize it because it’s no longer ruined.

Andrés steps out of it, and why the fuck is he always so handsome? It’s not fair. It’s the middle of the night, his shirt should at least have some wrinkles. But no. He’s looking as perfect as ever, not even a hair out of place. Martín can’t help but feel a little annoyed. He tries once again to get up, but loses his balance and falls down on the grass. 

“I can do it,” he hisses angrily when Andrés reaches for him. And he does it, but it takes him a couple of minutes to regain control over his legs. 

“I should probably take you home,” Andrés says in a concerned voice. He sounds very much like an adult.

“Nonono, Andrés, I have to talk to you. It’s important. I want to see where you live.” 

Andrés frowns at him but ends up nodding and guiding him to his car. He also ends up opening the door for him, because Martín’s hands are out of control.

When they get out of the car Martín looks at the building in front of him with wide eyes.

“It is—” he drawls, trying to find the right words, “it is a very handsome building.”

Andrés chuckles.

“I think you need to sleep, Martín.”

Martín accepts the arm around him, not because he needs help to walk, not at all, but because it feels nice. He might lean a little too much into the touch, but he’s not sure.

Suddenly he’s sitting on a couch in a very fancy apartment. 

“Do you live here?” he asks, both eyebrows raised.

“Of course I live here, I didn’t just bring you to some stranger’s apartment. Do you need some water? I’ll get you some water.”

Andrés is off to the kitchen, but Martín shakes his head. He shouldn’t have done that, because the apartment doesn’t stop spinning when he stops the motion.

He blinks a couple of times and sees Andrés in front of him.

“Are you alright? You don’t look so good.”

“I’m—” he swallows, looking for the next word. “I’m—”

Martín notices the panicked realization in Andrés’ eyes the second before Martín pukes down himself. He looks up at Andrés, to tell him something, and there’s a trash bin shoved into his arms before he pukes again. It doesn’t seem to stop, even when his stomach is empty, and the tears are streaming down his cheeks. 

He wants to die, right here, right now.

He spits into the bin.

“Oh God, I’m sorry.”

When he finally dares to look up, Andrés hands him a towel.

“Are you done?”

“Yes. I’m so sorry,” he repeats when Andrés takes away the bin with a disgusted look on his face. 

Martín looks down at himself. There’s puke on his shirt, on his jeans, and oh God no, on the couch. He’s almost about to puke again, this time out of shame. With the towel in his hand, he desperately tries to clean off the stain on the couch.

“Don’t worry about that. Are you able to walk?”

To be fair, Martín is barely able to answer him, his body is so tired and he just wants to lie down. When he fails to articulate an answer to the question, Andrés grabs him with his hands under his armpits.

“Don’t sleep yet, we need to clean you up.”

He tries his very best to support himself on the way to the bathroom, but he would never have gotten there if it wasn’t for Andrés’ support. 

“I can do it myself,” he says and steps into the shower.

“I’ll recommend that you undress first.”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” 

Martín isn’t sure how he manages to get off his shirt without getting puke everywhere, but he’s pretty sure he does. It seems like an impossible task to unbutton his jeans, though. If he wasn’t so wasted, he would have panicked at the sight of Andrés’ fingers opening his jeans, but the panic doesn’t get to him before he’s already done. 

“I’ll help you shower.”

“No!” Martín says in a tone that’s way too panicked for his current state, and Andrés almost takes a step back.

“Alright. You do it, but I’m not leaving you out here alone.”

Martín wants to ask Andrés to look away when he takes off his boxers, but he doesn’t, he just turns away from him. Then he steps in the shower, still by some miracle able to stand up, steadied by his hands on the wall. 

And oh God it feels fantastic, the warm water against his skin, and he just wants to lie down and sleep. But he pulls himself together and cleans himself with some of Andrés’ soap, which by the way smells fantastic. 

Andrés is still there when he opens the curtain, and he takes the towel handed to him. 

“I found some of my clothes for you.”

He gestures toward the table where there’s a pair of pajama pants, a t-shirt, and some boxers. 

“Thank you.” 

He waits for Andrés to turn around or leave, but he doesn’t. So he carefully drops the towel and reaches for the clothes to cover himself as quickly as possible. Andrés eyes him warily, probably still waiting for him to puke or fall. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” Martín admits, trying to ignore how intimate it feels to be wearing Andrés’ clothes. It’s a good thing his body is too wasted to show any signs of pleasure. 

“You can sleep on my couch.” When he sees the look on Martín’s face, he adds: “Not the one you puked on, the other one.”

Martín didn’t notice that he had two couches, what a luxury. 

“I don’t have to, you can drop me off at home.”

“You have to stop rejecting to sleep on my couch, or I will start taking it personally.” 

“I didn’t mean—”

But Andrés is already on his way to the living room, so Martín follows him and slumps down on the second couch. He sits there awkwardly with his hands in his lap and his bare feet on the soft rug under the couch. 

“Andrés, I’m really sorry. About your couch and— all of this. I’ll pay if you need to get it cleaned.”

Andrés smiles at him, and he doesn’t even look mad. 

“Don’t worry, I’ve been there too.”

Martín is pretty sure that’s a lie, but also pretty relieved that Andrés doesn’t hate him. He accepts the blanket Andrés hands him, and for some reason, Andrés runs his fingers through Martín’s damp hair, making his eyes flutter shut for a moment.

When his head hits the pillow, he covers himself with the blanket, no longer able to keep his eyes open.

“Why are you so nice to me?” he asks in a drowsy voice.

“Please don’t puke on this couch, too,” is Andrés’ only response when he places a bowl next to the couch. 

“I was afraid you were going to sleep all day.”

Martín tries to laugh, but his head is pounding so violently, and he buries it in the pillow.

“Painkillers?” Andrés asks. Martín grumbles something into the pillow, and when he looks up, Andrés hands him painkillers and water. He doesn’t even sit up when he swallows them, and he must have fallen asleep again because when he opens his eyes the headache isn’t nearly as bad as before. 

“You’re awake this time?”

Andrés looks up from the painting he’s working on. 

“I think so.”

“I’ll make you another coffee, that one is probably cold now.” Andrés takes the cup from the table in front of Martín and disappears into the kitchen. 

When Martín sees the wet spot on the other couch, everything from last night comes back to him, and he can’t even meet Andrés’ eyes when he returns to the room.

When he remembers why he called Andrés in the first place, he’s hit by a feeling of panic, a rush of cold going through his body. Did he say anything stupid? Oh God, did he tell Andrés— When he accepts the cup of coffee he forces himself to scan Andrés’ face for any emotion that could give away anything. He doesn’t remember saying anything, but then again, he doesn’t remember much else than puking on himself. He could have said anything. The thought almost makes him sick again. He can’t ask Andrés about it without making him suspicious. 

“I’m really sorry about last night,” he says in a low voice, trying to analyze Andrés’ reaction.

“Yeah, you told me that about 30 times.”

He doesn’t seem angry or— disgusted. That’s a good sign. Maybe Martín managed to keep his mouth shut, after all. He goes for a hesitant smile and looks up. 

“You probably have other plans than to nurse me back to life, I’ll be out as soon as I finish my coffee.”

Andrés looks at him with his piercing brown eyes, and Martín finds himself staring back, unable to look away.

“You seem to forget that I enjoy your company.”

Martín tries not to make the warm feeling in his stomach too visible on his face. Andrés wants him to stay. 

He gets up - slowly, because his body feels as tired as a 90-year old - and walks over to look at the painting Andrés is working on. 

“What do you think?”

“It’s—” Martín pauses for a second because he has no idea how to compliment art, especially not when he can’t figure out what the hell it’s supposed to look like “—impressive.” Because it is. “It looks better than most of the paintings in the museum.” 

The brush stops moving when Andrés looks over his shoulder.

“You think so?”

Martín nods.

“Thank you”— he puts down the brush —“I was thinking of getting something to eat. Are you hungry? You kind of missed breakfast.”

“Yeah, something to eat would be nice.” 

“I’ll get us some lunch. You can borrow those pants.”

Andrés leaves to pick up the food, and Martín takes the pants Andrés left for him. It feels weird to be here, in Andrés’ apartment, for the first time, completely alone and dressing in Andrés’ clothes. So intimate. The pants are nice, and Martín’s breath hitches when he pulls them on and feels the fabric brush against his thighs. To imagine that those pants have been in direct contact with Andrés’ skin almost feels like Andrés’ skin touching his. 

Yep, it definitely feels even weirder being alone in Andrés’ apartment with a boner. 

Luckily, he manages to calm down before Andrés arrives with their food, which they end up eating on the couch in front of the TV.

It feels a lot different than the previous times they met because they’re in Andrés’ home now. The place where he lives, the place where he wakes up every day, where he goes to bed. Even though Martín shouldn’t put too much meaning into it, because the only reason he ended up here was his drunk ass, it seems like they’ve reached a new level of their friendship. 

Sitting on Andrés’ couch, cross-legged, eating a china box, and watching television - it feels nice. He feels weirdly at ease. 

Andrés’ apartment looks so grown up compared to his and Damian’s apartment. It looks neat and well decorated. Most of it looks modern, but some of the furniture looks like something bought second hand. 

“Did your girlfriend live here with you?”

“She did, yes. But not for a long time. We moved in together when I moved here, but it wasn’t long before we broke up, and she moved out again.”

Martín kind of wants to ask what happened, but at the same time, he doesn’t want Andrés to talk about his girlfriend. He just nods. 

“How do you afford this place alone when you don’t even have a job, then?”

It probably isn’t the case, but it looks to Martín like Andrés puts food in his mouth just after Martín asked, to buy himself time. He shrugs and finishes chewing.

“I saved some money when I was studying.” 

The paintings on the walls look a little too expensive for a person without any income, but then again, Martín doesn’t know shit about art.

“I have a place in mind for our next meeting,” Andrés says before he asks again.

“Yeah?”

“You’ll see. We should probably wait a couple of days, since it will involve some drinking, and I don’t think you’re ready for that tomorrow.”

Martín makes a face. The thought of alcohol makes his stomach turn.

“I’ll need at least one day to recover from this.”

“How do you feel about drinking on a school night? Tuesday is really the best day to visit.”

“I feel good about that.”

Martín pulls the blanket up to his ears and stares into the dark. He’s tired - it’s late and he’s still pretty hungover from last night. But he also feels— kind of good? He’s convinced that he didn’t say anything stupid to Andrés, and thank God for that, because Andrés still wants to spend time with him. Even though he was completely wasted and puked on his furniture. 

He took so good care of Martín today when he should have just kicked him out. He even offered him his clothes - it dawns on him that he’s still wearing his boxers and t-shirt. It’s just clothes, the shirt is plain and grey, but the smell of Andrés’ detergent hits Martín’s nostrils as soon as he thinks about it. He closes his eyes and tries to imagine Andrés in the room with him, under his blanket, and without even being aware of it, his hand is slowly sliding under the t-shirt and up his stomach. Andrés has been in this t-shirt too, and— in the boxers. He’s been naked right under the same layer of clothes that Martín is currently wearing. 

It feels kind of forbidden when the heat is pooling in his stomach, and further down in his crotch. It’s not that he isn’t used to thinking about other guys when he’s in bed, but this is Andrés. It’s something new. A guy he knows, a guy he likes, and a guy he is going to see again. 

Not sure if he wants to go through with it, if he should, his hand is hesitant, caressing his skin under the t-shirt, sliding down over his hips, down his thigh. His breath hitches when one of his fingers barely brushes his balls on the way up. 

It feels fucking dirty when his hand goes down his boxers - Andrés’ boxers - he should stop, but it feels like Andrés is there, in his bed, and he’s already hard from just imagining how his body would look without clothes. The fingers around his dick are in no way as elegant as Andrés’, but Martín pretends either way and moans quietly into his pillow. 

And he can’t erase the image of Andrés from his mind. Andrés without clothes, Andrés with a hard-on, Andrés waiting for Martín to touch him. Andrés’ hand down his boxers, stroking his dick. 

He hasn’t even taken his dick out of the boxers when he feels how close he is, and he really shouldn’t come in Andrés’ underwear, but at the same time the thought is so fucking hot and his hand is moving faster now, not caring at all. In his mind he’s moaning into Andrés’ mouth, in reality he’s moaning into his pillow, when his come covers his hand and a shiver goes through his body.

For a couple of minutes it’s hot and dirty, but when he comes back to reality that well-known feeling of being wrong hits him and he actually blushes in the dark. His dick is going soft in his hand and everything is sticky when he takes his hand out of the boxers and wipes it in the fabric. Embarrassed. 

Andrés is his friend, and you shouldn’t jerk it and think of your friend. It’s gross. It’s not normal. 

When he changes his boxers, he also changes the t-shirt, because suddenly he can’t stand the thought of being this close to Andrés. He feels like Andrés can see him, and if he could— Martín can’t imagine how disgusted he would be. 

He needs to get his shit together.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You need to move your hips, too.”
> 
> Andrés places both hands on Martín’s hips, barely touching, and slowly makes Martín move to the rhythm. Martín has no idea what Andrés has done, but the way Andrés looked down at his hips, the way he guided him so gently, certainly did things to Martín. Suddenly he feels at ease, and he doesn’t think about it anymore, his body magically just moves.
> 
> “Look at you,” Andrés tells him, and Martín grins.
> 
> They’re dancing in front of each other, and it doesn’t even feel weird, because they’re mirroring each other’s smiles, and Andrés looks at Martín like he’s _proud_ of him.

Andrés is dressed in a gray suit that fits him perfectly and clings to his body in just the right places, and Martín has to swallow when he sees him. He dressed as nicely as possible with the content his closet provided, which means a simple pair of black pants and a flowery shirt which he has never had the courage to wear before, but something told him it would be fitting for tonight.

“Nice shirt,” Andrés compliments him when he gets to the club. 

Martín tries to say thank you without blushing too much. Then he shifts the focus to the place Andrés chose for the night.

“What made you choose this place?” 

He expects a long story about Andrés knowing the owner of the place, how special it is to Andrés or something like that. And Andrés actually does look a little disappointed in himself when he mutters:

“Google.”

Martín can’t help but laugh out loud.

“Google? I mentally go through my whole childhood and youth, thinking for hours to pick the exact right places to show you, and you’re telling me that you just let Google choose our destination for tonight?”

Andrés rolls his eyes but smiles at the same time.

“I didn’t _just let Google choose_. I like jazz so I wondered if there was a place with that kind of music in this city, and Google suggested this club. Don’t worry, I went through the reviews, and I’m 99 % sure we won’t be disappointed.”

Shaking his head, Martín follows him inside. 

He isn’t a big fan of jazz, but the live band makes the place come alive. The place isn’t too crowded, and it’s easy finding a free table. Andrés chooses one in the corner, away from most of the people, but still with a view of the dance floor and the musicians. They sit down next to each other on the comfortable seat, and Andrés asks him what he wants to drink.

“Just give me whatever you’re drinking, it’s your turn to introduce me to new stuff.”

This doesn’t seem to be an easy task for Andrés, who spends a couple of minutes flipping through the drinks menu. Right when Martín is tempted to just order a beer, Andrés’ finger stops on one of the pages. 

“I’m not in the mood for mojitos or tequila sunrise, how about just a nice glass of cava?”

“Sure,” Martín agrees, not really caring too much about the drink.

When they clink their glasses together, and Martín drinks half of his cava in one gulp, Andrés eyes him suspiciously.

“No wonder you end up vomiting on other people’s couches.”

The blush on Martín’s cheeks is immediate. 

“I swear that’s the first time it happened. I usually hold my alcohol very well.”

“We’ll see about that,” Andrés laughs.

Martín is fascinated by the way Andrés enjoys the music. Even when he talks to Martín, he’s either swaying softly to the rhythm, his leg is moving or his finger is tapping on the table. 

“Isn’t it amazing?” Andrés asks at some point, looking at the musicians on the stage. 

When Martín doesn’t answer right away, Andrés turns his head to him.

“You don’t like the music?” 

“I mean, it’s okay, I guess.” 

He shrugs apologetically, eliciting a soft laugh from Andrés.

“What kind of music do you like, then?”

Martín isn’t sure why he’s embarrassed by admitting that he mostly listens to punk rock, because he wanted to answer something more mature than that. In an attempt to make it better he adds:

“I almost played in a band, once. I mean, it wasn’t really a band, just me and a couple of friends having fun and trying to make music.”

“Oh yeah, the guitar, right?”

“Huh?”

Martín doesn’t recall telling him about playing.

“I saw it the night we crashed when I got you home. Do you still play?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

It feels nice to have Andrés noticing stuff about him.

“An engineering student playing the guitar, huh. You’re a very interesting person, Martín.”

Martín wants to tell him that he’s wrong, but he’ll figure that out for himself soon enough. 

“Well, whether you like the music or not, we’re going to dance later.”

“Shit, I’m going to need some shots,” Martín says and immediately leaves for the bar.

When he turns around to head back to their table, he notices a woman is sitting next to Andrés. He frowns involuntarily, but then he notices how Andrés’ eyes are resting upon him, even when speaking to the woman. He’s suddenly feeling self-aware and straightens his back a little. 

“Martín, this is my friend, Antonia. Antonia, this is my friend, Martín.” 

Martín smiles politely and offers Antonia one of the shots, which she refuses. Then he and Andrés take a couple of shots before Andrés continues the conversation with her. Just when Martín starts wondering when she is going to leave, there is a hand on his knee under the table. He only startles a bit, hopefully not enough for Andrés to notice, but he certainly stops breathing for a couple of seconds. 

His eyes flicker nervously to Andrés, but he is still talking to Antonia like nothing happened. And nothing did happen, except his hand is on Martín’s knee, and Martín doesn’t understand why. 

He wants to reach under the table and put his hand on Andrés’, but the mere thought of it makes his heart hammer inside his chest, so instead he just sits very still. 

When their conversation ends, Andrés’ hand gives his knee a short squeeze and disappears at the same time as Antonia. Then he turns his attention back to Martín, who finally breathes normally. 

“I am sorry for the interruption. We haven’t seen each other for a couple of years.”

“Don’t worry,” Martín replies, searching Andrés’ face for any sign of what just happened. He doesn’t find any. Andrés seems completely unfazed, so Martín decides to act the same.

“I’ll have to warn you, I can’t dance,” Martín says as they’re approaching the dance floor later in the evening. “Like, not at all. I like dancing, but it’s not really dancing, it’s more like— jumping up and down to the music and looking like an idiot. And this music is definitely too slow for that.”

“I guess I’ll have to teach you how to dance then.”

“You shouldn’t waste your time on that.”

Something in Martín’s mind tells him that this is a very bad idea, and he wants to talk Andrés out of it, to go back to just drinking and chatting. Then he sees Andrés moving to the music, and all of those thoughts are deleted from his mind.

Martín isn’t able to describe what he’s doing with his body. It looks nowhere like the dancing he’s used to seeing at the parties at his university, but to be fair, that probably doesn’t even count as dancing. 

Andrés is just kind of— moving to the music. As if the music has taken control over his body and makes it sway slowly, his arms by his sides. His eyes are closed, and that’s probably for the best because Martín can’t do anything else other than look at him. 

It dawns to Martín that he admires Andrés for exactly this. The way he doesn’t seem to give a shit what anyone thinks about him. He’s just Andrés, and people will have to take it or leave it. And Martín— well, he’s the kind of person who worries if his flowery shirt is _too much_. The exact opposite. Andrés would probably wear something _too much_ on purpose. 

Martín wants to be like that. How relieving it must be just to close his eyes and do what he wants, not caring about the people looking.

After a moment Andrés opens his eyes again, and he grins at Martín, who is still openly staring.

“I’m not known for giving up. Are you up for it or not?”

His fingers are already wrapped loosely around Martín’s wrist, and he tries not to flinch.

“Show me what you’ve got.”

“Alright, try to just move to the music, like this.”

He grabs both of Martín’s arms and starts swaying them in the air, and Martín feels like an idiot because his legs aren’t moving at all. He laughs, and it breaks the tension, he still feels like an idiot, but in a funnier way. 

“You need to move your hips, too.” 

Andrés places both hands on Martín’s hips, barely touching, and slowly makes Martín move to the rhythm. Martín has no idea what Andrés has done, but the way Andrés looked down at his hips, the way he guided him so gently, certainly did things to Martín. Suddenly he feels at ease, and he doesn’t think about it anymore, his body magically just moves. 

“Look at you,” Andrés tells him, and Martín grins.

They’re dancing in front of each other, and it doesn’t even feel weird, because they’re mirroring each other’s smiles, and Andrés looks at Martín like he’s _proud_ of him.

“Oh Martín, this song is beautiful, come here.”

Martín didn’t even notice the change in the music, but he certainly notices when Andrés pulls him in with a hand on his side. His arms are awkwardly placed in front of Andrés, and Martín doesn’t know what to do. But Andrés guides his hands to rest on his own sides.

“Just try to relax,” Andrés says when he notices the change in Martín.

But it’s easier said than done, because the fabric of Andrés’ shirt is thin, and Martín feels his skin burning right under his hands. He closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. His lungs are filled with the smell of Andrés’ cologne, and when he opens his eyes again, Andrés is so close.

He realizes that he wants him even closer, and _shit_.

Andrés closes his eyes and starts swaying, and it somehow makes it a little easier that he’s no longer looking. Martín swallows hard and tries to relax as Andrés told him to.

“Just move with me,” Andrés says in a low voice, and Martín does what he’s told. How could he not?

“Come here, it’s easier this way.”

And suddenly, Andrés has closed the distance between their bodies, and Martín knows that it’s just to make it easier for him to follow Andrés’ moves, to teach him. But he feels everything. The warmth from Andrés’ skin through the two layers of clothes, his stomach pressed against Martín’s, the muscles in his thighs flexing when he sways to the music. 

Martín likes it a lot. He likes it too much.

He has never been this close to another guy, has never allowed himself to. Andrés smells really nice, he’s handsome, and he’s suddenly so close. Martín is aware that what he’s feeling now isn’t okay, but he can’t help it. He wants to press himself against Andrés, to touch him, never to let go of him. His thoughts are racing with all the stuff he wants to do, and he should have stopped them long ago before he allowed Andrés to come this close. Because now his body gives it all away with his boner pressing against his pants, against Andrés’ thigh.

His fingers are digging into Andrés’ flesh before he lets his arms fall and steps back. Andrés opens his eyes and looks confused. Martín tries to pull down his shirt to cover most of the situation, but surely Andrés must have noticed it because their bodies were pressed together.

Martín feels dizzy.

“I don’t feel so good.”

He wants to run.

“Okay.” Andrés finally removes his hands from Martín’s sides. “Can I get you some water?”

Martín frowns because he doesn’t understand why Andrés is acting so normally. 

“I just want to get out.”

With those words, Martín walks through the bar, at the highest speed he can muster without running, which would make it too suspicious. 

When he’s finally outside, he inhales deeply, finally feeling the air in his lungs for the first time since Andrés laid his hands on him. He leans against a wall and tries to relax, to make his dizziness go away.

“Here, have some of this.”

Andrés is suddenly in front of him, handing him a bottle of water.

Martín’s eyes flicker nervously when he takes the bottle.

“Thanks.”

He wants to ask Andrés why he’s still here, why he didn’t just leave. Martín wouldn’t blame him if he did.

“Do you feel better?” Andrés asks after Martín has had some water.

Martín still doesn’t look at him.

“I think I should just go home.”

“Okay.”

The disappointment clouding Andrés’ voice is almost too much for him to handle. He takes a deep breath and meets his eyes.

“I’m sorry for ruining the evening. You don’t have to go home, you could stay, maybe Antonia is still here.”

“I didn’t come here to be with Antonia. I’m leaving, too. Let me walk you home.”

After an awkward goodbye outside his apartment, Martín is finally alone in his room, shaking and so embarrassed. 

He’s definitely turned on by Andrés, that much is clear to him. It’s not that he ever doubted that he was into guys, but he never tested it. He never had the chance, or more likely, he never gave himself the chance. 

But tonight he wanted to do all kinds of stuff to Andrés, and it scares him more than he wants to admit. 

That’s when he makes a decision because he has to know. 

When he knocks on Mia’s door, his heart is racing. He isn’t quite sure what the fuck he’s doing.

“Martín,” she says in surprise when she opens the door.

“Hi,” he says and follows her inside.

“Where have you been?”

She’s looking down at him, surely wondering why he’s dressed so nicely.

“Uh, just out.” 

He takes off his shoes and follows her to her room. Then he tries to make a decision.

He steps toward her and swallows uncomfortably. He has to be sure because the consequences of this are going to be huge. 

She looks a bit confused when he presses his lips against hers, but of course, she kisses him back. And he feels— _nothing_. Nothing but guilt. He tries to force his brain to send the right signals to his body, but nothing happens. Not when her tongue enters his mouth, not when she willingly presses her body against him.

 _Please, just something_.

She pushes him backward and down onto her bed and keeps kissing him. And still, nothing happens. This isn’t working. He was hoping for the slightest response to confirm that there was still something, that he could still be normal. But he just isn’t.

Mia unbuttons his shirt and starts kissing down his chest and stomach. When her hand cups his dick through his pants, it’s not even half-hard. This makes her stop for a second, but he makes a sound that urges her to continue. He presses his eyes shut and tries to get his body to respond to her touch. Nothing happens when she unzips his pants.

Behind his tightly shut eyes, there is suddenly an image of Andrés, and he remembers the feeling of the slender body against his. He is able to recall the exact way he smells, and he is able to imagine how it would feel if it was him touching his dick through the boxers right now. With closed eyes, it’s easy to imagine, and it isn’t fair to Mia, but his body doesn’t care, when it sends a jolt of pleasure directly down between his legs. 

In Martín’s mind, it’s Andrés who pulls down his boxers and hesitantly wraps his lips around his dick, and _oh shit, this feels really good_. Martín is completely hard in a few seconds. He should stop, he should really stop this, but the mouth around his dick feels good for the first time ever, and he can’t stop it. He tries with a hand on her shoulder, but she continues, and his mind goes back to Andrés’ soft lips. He’s moaning when the movement becomes quicker, and shit, this is too obvious— 

“Shit, fuck, I’m gonna come,” he warns. The mouth is gone, and he wraps his own hand around his dick, trying to stop himself, but that just makes his orgasm even more powerful when he comes with a loud groan, spilling all over his hand and his bare stomach.

He is left shaking for a couple of minutes before he is able to focus on reality. When he opens his eyes, Mia isn’t there, and he is confused for a second. He reaches for the paper towels she keeps in her nightstand and cleans himself off as well as possible.

After a moment Mia comes back. He doesn’t know what to say, and she doesn’t speak, either.

This is so wrong.

“You didn’t think of me, did you?”

She isn’t even looking at him. He keeps buttoning his shirt, his mouth is dry, and he doesn’t answer. 

“Answer me.”

He swallows hard and considers what the right thing to say is.

“I’m sorry, Mia.”

He means it.

“Is there somebody else?”

“No. It’s— more complicated than that.”

He feels the blush on his cheeks when he looks at her. She doesn’t even look mad when she nods. When her eyes meet his, there’s a hint of understanding, which he totally doesn’t deserve. 

“You should leave.”

It’s his turn to nod. There’s a lump in his throat, and it’s not only for hurting Mia. It’s for finally confirming what he’s known for a long time but always found an excuse to keep at bay. The slightest feeling in his body when she kissed him, and he would tell himself that if he worked hard enough, he would learn how to be like everybody else, and they could be happy together. 

He’s finally ready to admit that it’s not going to happen, not now, not ever. 

He succeeds in holding the tears back until he gets to his room. He has known for so long, and yet it feels like his world is crumbling around him when he buries his head in his pillow and starts sobbing.

The next morning Martín isn’t able to drag himself out of bed. His energy-levels are beyond zero, and he doesn’t want to face the world around him. 

When Andrés calls him for the first time, he doesn’t answer. He tries to imagine what Andrés could possibly want to say to him, and the only thing he comes up with is that he doesn’t want to see Martín anymore. Which is totally understandable, because who wants a friend who gets a boner while dancing? 

It would probably be for the best if they don’t see each other again. If Andrés doesn’t say that, Martín will. It won’t work between them when Martín is like this, when he is attracted to Andrés, and Andrés clearly is attracted to women.

Martín startles when he hears the knock on his door. Still buried under his blanket, he answers:

“What?”

“Aren’t you going to get up today?” Damian asks. Martín looks at the clock, and he should probably get up, even though it’s their day off.

“No. I don’t feel so good.”

There is a pause where none of them speaks.

“You and Mia broke up, right?”

Damn social media, making news travel this fast. 

“Yes.”

“Do you want something to eat? I made extra.”

“Yeah.”

Damian hesitantly opens the door. He’s holding a plate with two sandwiches, which he hands to Martín. 

“Thanks.” 

Martín tries to smile at him, but judging from the look on Damian’s face, he doesn’t fully succeed. Damian just nods and stands next to him for a moment without talking. 

“Tell me if you need anything. Or if you uh, need to talk?”

Martín nods, and Damian finally leaves the room. He takes two bites of a sandwich and places the plate on his nightstand and crawls back under the blanket. He really needs to talk to someone, but he doesn’t have anyone to talk to, not about _that_. So he goes back to sleep.

When he wakes up again it’s almost midnight, and his phone is ringing. It’s Andrés. He might as well get it over with.

“Hey.”

“Martín.” 

Andrés’ voice sounds almost relieved, and Martín clenches his jaw and tries to prepare himself for the inevitable.

“I think I’ve found the next place we’re going to visit.”

Martín frowns in the dark and wonders what Andrés is talking about. The next place. Why is he talking about places to visit, when they aren’t going to see each other again?

“Martín, are you there?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you free tomorrow?”

Martín’s stomach drops at the thought of a new day tomorrow. A day where he is going to face actual people. He tries to imagine seeing Andrés again, and— no. That isn’t going to work.

“I have school tomorrow. And I have to study for a test.”

“The day after tomorrow then?”

“I have a busy week.”

“Oh.”

The disappointment in Andrés’ voice is audible. Why is he disappointed? Martín is trying to save him from a bigger disappointment when he figures out the truth about Martín, if he didn’t already figure that out. 

“Well, uh—”

Andrés clearly doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t understand the change in Martín, and Martín hates himself for doing this. For making Andrés think that maybe he did something wrong. He feels like he is being swallowed by guilt. Guilt for being who he is, and for hurting other people because of who he is. 

“Call me when you’re free, then?”

Martín’s throat tightens, but he manages to croak out a small “yes” before he hangs up and puts down the phone with a shaky hand. He finally lets the tears roll down his cheeks again.

Even though he knows it would be a terrible idea, he really wants to see Andrés again. Despite the short time that they’ve known each other, he really likes him. He has never talked as openly with anyone as he did with Andrés, and he wishes so badly that he could share this with him, too. That he wouldn’t have to face it alone, because it’s overwhelming, and he’s not sure he can. But sharing it with Andrés would have even bigger consequences, because not only would he have to admit to him that he’s gay, but also that he’s attracted to him. 

He would surely lose him. This is what his stepdad tried to warn him about all along. 

When Martín was only a kid, dressing up in his mother’s silky nightgown, and he told him to make sure that none of his friends ever saw him like that, because then he wouldn’t have friends anymore. 

When Martín was a teenager, and his stepdad subtly pulled him aside and informed him that he threw out that magazine Martín kept in his drawer, because it was disgusting, and he wouldn’t want one of his friends to find it, would he? 

He has been so careful ever since, and just because he got a little carried away by a handsome stranger, he almost threw it all out the window. 

He isn’t sure how to move on from this.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He needs to focus on his breathing. In. Out. In. Out.
> 
> “I have to tell you something.”
> 
> “Yeah?”
> 
> His knuckles are turning white from his firm grip on the balustrade. He stares down at the city beneath them and finds a spot to focus. A silver car parked outside a store. He can’t breathe in and out anymore, so he speaks instead. 
> 
> “I’m gay.”
> 
> The car disappears from his view when he squeezes his eyes shut, holding his breath as if he is expecting something bad to happen. A thunderstorm or an explosion.

The next day he showers and goes to attend a lecture in the morning. He has tried to hide in an oversized hoodie, but he still feels like everybody knows. Which of course, they don’t, how should they? Unless Mia suspects something and told anybody. He pulls the hood over his head and tries to focus on the subject, but he keeps fidgeting with his phone. 

He misses Andrés. It hasn’t even been two days, and he already misses him. And now he will probably never see him again. He’ll never hear him talk about art in that passionate voice that he admires so much. They’ll never have paella again, never drink together. Martín won’t be the one to guide him in town. He’ll find someone else to do it, probably some pretty lady who he will take to bed, too, and he’ll never spare Martín another thought.

Martín feels nausea rising inside him and storms out of the class, outside, where he leans against the cool wall and just _breathes_ until the nausea is gone. Then he goes home and sleeps for the rest of the day.

The week goes by slowly. He attends his lectures and does his homework, and manages to avoid Damian as much as possible. Whenever he sees him, he looks worried and asks him if everything is okay, and he just nods. He probably just thinks that Martín’s mood is an effect of the break-up, which is fine. 

One evening he is working on a paper at his desk in his room. It’s a very interesting paper, he loves the subject, but this particular evening he keeps catching himself staring out the window instead of writing. He can’t concentrate, and he knows exactly why. His thoughts keep drifting to Andrés like they have done almost constantly since the last time he saw him. 

He thinks about that last time, outside the club, after the incident on the dancefloor. How unaffected by it Andrés was. There’s no way he didn’t feel Martín’s excitement when they were dancing, but when Martín thinks about it, he didn’t seem to mind. And he did call him to hear when they were going to see each other again. Why do that if he was disgusted by Martín?

The spark of hope that these thoughts ignite inside him is as dangerous as it’s exciting. What if - and it’s a stupid thought, but - what if Andrés didn’t find Martín disgusting? What if Martín could tell him who he really was, and Andrés wouldn’t leave? After all, he has been very supportive in the brief period of time they’ve known each other, he didn’t seem to mind when Martín acted out after the meeting with his stepdad, and he hasn’t commented on any of Martín’s other flaws. What if— 

No. It surely isn’t the case.

He goes back to working on the paper, but every now and then, he would stare out of the window again and imagine.

What if he told Andrés how he feels? What’s the worst that could happen if he, for once, took the chance and opened up, let someone in? Andrés could tell Martín that he didn’t want to see him anymore, but that wouldn’t be different from now.

What if Andrés didn’t care about Martín’s sexuality, and they continued to be friends? Martín wouldn’t even care if they would just be friends, as long as he gets to spend time with Andrés. 

Either way, it couldn’t be worse than it is now. At least he would have tried. He feels like Andrés deserves to know.

When he puts down his pen, his hands are already shaking from the decision he just made. What if he just— calls him?

Shit. He’ll definitely need alcohol for this. 

The cabinet in the kitchen holds a bottle of rum that Damian got as a birthday gift from his uncle, but never intends to drink because he doesn’t like rum. It’s supposed to be expensive, so Martín opens it and pours himself a shot. It doesn’t taste good, but he doesn’t want to spit it out either, so he takes another one before putting the bottle back.

He takes a cold shower and when he looks in the mirror, he can’t help but grin at himself. This is the wildest decision he has ever made, and he feels all giddy. He dresses in tight black pants and a pink shirt, and when he is finished buttoning it, he panics.

Maybe a pink shirt is too much? He looks in his closet for something less— pink. He holds a blue shirt in front of him, but puts it back, because pink is just fine. At least he thinks so.

Then he panics again, because what if Andrés is doing something else? He should call him before he uses more time on what may be unnecessary panic.

“Hello.”

Oh god, that voice, he missed it so much.

“Hey Andrés, it’s me, Martín.”

“Hi, Martín.”

_Hi, Martín_. It sounded happy, but he could be wrong. Maybe people sound happy right before they’re about to turn you down.

“Are you doing anything this evening?”

He surely hopes Andrés can’t hear his heart hammering over the phone.

“Just painting.”

“I was wondering”— oh fuck, this is it —”if you had time to meet me tonight? I’ll show you another favorite place of mine.”

Shit, he shouldn’t have asked. He wants to take it back, he isn’t ready for this. What if Andrés turns him down now, what if he doesn’t even want to see him? After all, Martín kind of ignored him for a week without any explanation. It would only make sense for him to— 

“Of course.”

_Of course!_ Martín almost jumps in excitement. Andrés wants to see him!

Oh no, this is a bad idea, he is already too excited, and this could go all kinds of wrong. The more excited he feels now, the worse he is going to feel when Andrés eventually tells him that he doesn’t want to see him again, after learning who he really is.

“Can you meet me at La Terraza?”

“Sure, I’ll be there in 30 minutes.”

Martín thinks that 30 minutes is good, there’s no way he can panic too much in 30 minutes. 

Turns out he’s terribly wrong. 

He spends the first ten minutes wandering around in his room, going through all the possible outcomes of this evening in his head. He takes another shot of rum before heading out the door. 

When he’s halfway there he realizes that he should have brought something for them to drink, but if he walks back to get something, he won’t get there in time. He’ll have to make a call and ask if Simón can have something ready for them.

He arrives ten minutes before they agreed to meet, and he considers taking a detour to make the time pass because standing still makes him panic. 

Two minutes later he’s convinced himself that this won’t work. He can’t tell Andrés that he likes guys. He just can’t. Maybe, if Andrés is not already disgusted, they can stay friends, like they were before all of this. He can handle that. There’s a fair possibility that Andrés would want that since he already agreed on meeting again. But he can’t know the truth about Martín. No one can.

Andrés is nowhere to be seen, so he walks inside the building where he spots Simón.

“Wow Martín, I still have at least 5 minutes, right?”

“Yeah, don’t worry.”

“Good. You kind of stressed me out there. Next time I could use a warning a couple of hours earlier.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, it was an impulsive decision, and it’s okay if you can’t—”

“Don’t worry, everything will be ready right on time. Do you have a date with Mia?”

“No, it’s not Mia.”

Simón raises an eyebrow. 

“And it’s not a date.”

Martín must have given off the right vibe because Simón stops asking and heads upstairs for the last preparations. Martín heads back outside, and a couple of minutes later he spots Andrés down the street. 

He takes a deep breath and wills himself to calm down. He feels better after deciding that he isn’t going to tell Andrés anything, now he can allow himself just to be happy to spend time with him again. He missed him so much.

Holy shit, he’s still wearing the pink shirt. It’s too much for a normal meeting.

Andrés is smiling widely when he finally reaches Martín.

“I didn’t think you would have time for me this week?”

Martín freezes momentarily because he forgot to think about an excuse for that.

“I took time for you.”

Okay, that came out wrong. Or did it? He can’t judge right now, not after the shots he drank.

Andrés looks at the building behind Martín.

“I don’t hope you wanted to show me that place, because they seem pretty closed to me.”

“Not when you know the right people,” Martín says and turns around to open the door.

They don’t see Simón when they get inside, and Martín loves him for that. It’s way cooler if Andrés thinks that Martín did all of this himself.

Andrés tries to do some small talk on their way up in the elevator, but the atmosphere is a little tense, and Martín is relieved that it’s a quick elevator.

When they step outside on the rooftop bar, Martín is almost taken aback by the view. It’s not like he hasn’t been there before, but something about this day makes it even better. Simón removed all of the small tables that are usually scattered all over the roof. He made a corner with a few lounge chairs, sofas, a small table with a few snacks, and a bottle of wine. Martín will have to say a proper thank you some time.

It hits him that this seems really intimate, and this isn’t a date. He feels the urge to apologize to Andrés, but when he turns to him, he looks so excited that the urge disappears immediately. 

“How did you do this?”

He sounds genuinely impressed. Martín shrugs and smirks at him. 

“I know the right people.”

While Martín is heading for the sofa, Andrés takes a look around on the roof, and Martín watches him from where he’s seated. Admires him. This is going to be hard, being friends with someone this attractive, but he can do it, he will. It’s going to be worth it. 

Maybe it’s the alcohol, the way the evening sun makes his skin glow, or the fact that he hasn’t seen him for a long time, but he’s devastatingly beautiful. 

“Would you like a glass of wine?”

“Yes, please,” Andrés answers and sits down on the sofa. 

Martín pours two glasses of wine and hands one to Andrés.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t have time during the week,” he tells Andrés. 

Andrés takes a sip of his wine and turns to look at Martín.

“I was afraid I had to find myself a new guide. Busy with school?”

“Yeah. Kind of.”

He can’t keep eye contact when he says it, because he’s afraid that he is going to tell Andrés everything, and he doesn’t want that. 

“I’ve been kind of busy myself, so don’t feel bad about it.”

He looks back at Andrés, and this time it’s Andrés’ turn to look away. Martín hasn’t seen that look on him before. He looks vulnerable, and Martín isn’t sure if he should ask, but after a moment, Andrés continues.

“I’ve spent some time in the hospital the past few days.”

Martín feels a rush of panic go through him, which must have shown because when Andrés looks at him he says:

“I’m fine. My, uh— my mother had this disease, Helmer’s myopathy, a disease where your muscles stop functioning. Unfortunately, they didn’t find any treatment, and it got really bad. She— she died.”

Martín notices the clenching of his jaw, and it tugs at his heart seeing him like this. He doesn’t know how to react, how to comfort Andrés, if he would even want that, so he stays perfectly still when Andrés continues. 

“My brother and I get regular check-ups, but this time my brother’s results didn’t look normal. So he had to come back and do some tests, and I went with him. Everything turned out to be fine, thank God, but the waiting was insufferable.” He fiddles with his wine glass before he takes a sip and his eyes flicker to Martín. “I just realized that you’re the first person I’ve talked to about this.”

“Oh.”

What a brilliant answer, Martín. Try again.

“I’m sorry about your mom.”

“Yeah.” He sighs. “I’m sorry, it wasn’t my intention to ruin your mood. We should enjoy this evening instead.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m glad you shared it with me.”

Martín isn’t sure if that’s the right thing to say, but it’s exactly what he feels. Andrés never talked about it with anyone before, and he chose Martín to be the first. Which means— what, that he trusts him? That he wants to open up to him? 

When those brown eyes pierce into his, showing a vulnerability that he never before saw in Andrés, he wants to do the same. Not because he feels bad about keeping his secret, not to make them even, but because he wants Andrés to know him. This is a foreign feeling, because his goal always has been to let people know as little about him as possible. With Andrés, it’s different. Different and scary.

He takes a deep breath and realizes what he has to do. 

When Andrés starts talking, Martín almost doesn’t hear what he’s saying. His heart starts hammering, and it’s so quick that he momentarily worries if he’s actually going to faint. But he doesn’t, even though he has trouble breathing normally. His palms are starting to get sweaty, and his whole body wants to escape instead of doing what he is about to do.

In the midst of Andrés’ speech, Martín downs the rest of his wine and gets up. He won’t run, but he can’t just sit there, his restless body telling him to move. Andrés watches him with curious eyes when he gets up and starts pacing, but he doesn’t ask. He waits patiently. 

“Fuck,” Martín mutters under his breath, and he almost feels nauseated because he’s so damn nervous. 

“Is anything wrong?” Andrés asks quietly. 

Martín shakes his head and runs his hand through his hair. He walks to the balcony and grabs it with both hands. He’s about to change his mind about telling Andrés anything when he hears footsteps behind him, and he can see out of the corner of his eye that Andrés is standing beside him.

He needs to focus on his breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

“I have to tell you something.”

“Yeah?”

His knuckles are turning white from his firm grip on the balustrade. He stares down on the city beneath them and finds a spot to focus. A silver car parked outside a store. He can’t breathe in and out anymore, so he speaks instead. 

“I’m gay.”

The car disappears from his view when he squeezes his eyes shut, holding his breath as if he is expecting something bad to happen. A thunderstorm or an explosion. But the only thing he hears is Andrés carefully speaking.

“Okay.”

The tone is almost questioning.

_Okay_. 

He takes a ragged breath and allows himself to almost whisper.

“Yeah.”

When he opens his eyes, the silver car is still there. Everything is still there, just like before. He doesn’t dare to look at Andrés, but his shadow tells him that he is still there, too.

His hands are flexing on the balustrade. 

Andrés looks at him, he can feel it. His gaze is burning, and Martín wants to look, to see his reaction. But he can’t. It’s done now, there is nothing left for him to do.

“You were nervous about telling me?”

Martín lets out a short breath through his nose. He nods.

“Why?”

Martín realizes that he didn’t prepare answers for any questions because he imagined that Andrés would be long gone at this point of the conversation. Which he surprisingly isn’t, and that’s good.

When Martín doesn’t answer, Andrés speaks again.

“Do you need to sit down?”

“I never told anybody.”

Martín forces his head to turn, with his hands still grasping the metal bar. He bites his lip when his eyes meet Andrés’, and Andrés’ eyes take a quick detour to look at his lips before looking back up. 

Then he lets go of the balustrade and walks to the sofa. He feels exhausted, physically and mentally, and leans back against the soft pillows. Andrés pours him a glass of wine which he accepts, careful not to touch Andrés’ hand.

“No one knows?” Andrés asks while filling his own glass. He sits down, still with some distance to Martín.

“No. Only you.”

Andrés frowns.

“You have a girlfriend, right?”

“Had. We kinda broke up.”

A faint nod. 

“You only figured it out recently, or—”

“No,” Martín interrupts. “I’ve known for years. I know that makes me a bad person, you don’t have to tell me that.”

“I wasn’t going to. I’m sure you had your reasons.”

Martín is fighting the lump in his throat while his hand is fidgeting with the hem of the pillow. Suddenly Andrés’ hand takes his. There’s a reassuring squeeze, and Martín can’t look at him, but he tightens his fingers around Andrés’, too. 

“Thank you for telling me. How did it feel finally saying it out loud?”

Fuck Andrés for asking that question, because the tears in his eyes are threatening to spill. He tries calming himself with a few deep breaths, staring intensely down at his own knees when he answers.

“I thought I was going to die.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t. I’m— relieved, I guess? And a little surprised that you’re still here.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have said those last words, but he’s finally talking, and he doesn’t really care anymore.

“Where else would I be?”

Martín shrugs.

“Anywhere but here. With me.”

He drinks some more wine and gets up again, walks to the balustrade, and looks out at the sunset. 

“Do you want me to leave you alone?”

Andrés’ voice is right behind him, and he shivers at the thought of being left alone right now. 

“No.”

Please stay.

Andrés is next to him, really close, and somehow that’s all Martín could ask for.

“You’re brave, Martín.”

He doesn’t feel brave, he feels like a little boy again, and he’s so tired of feeling that way. He’s relieved, yes, but he feels way too vulnerable for his liking, having put everything out there, and having zero control over what happens next. 

There’s a hand on his back, and that is the second time Andrés has touched him since Martín told him. He doesn’t understand why, but it makes him feel better. Less _wrong_. Andrés is doing nothing but standing here with him, and he feels so grateful.

“It’s a beautiful view from here. Look at the sunset.”

Martín exhales audibly at the change of subject and feels his shoulders relax.

“It’s even more beautiful when the sun is gone.”

“I guess we will have to stay and see.”

Martín smiles. He doesn’t look at Andrés, but he smiles. He keeps smiling when Andrés moves closer, and the hand on his back becomes an arm around his waist. His gaze is still fixed at the sunset, but all of his other senses are tuned in on Andrés. He feels every little movement, hears every breath. 

Martín tries to breathe evenly and wonders if Andrés can feel his heart hammering in his chest by the proximity, maybe even hear it. They stay like that for a long time, before Martín finally turns his head. Andrés is really close. His eyes briefly search Martín’s face before they settle on his eyes. 

Without breaking eye-contact he turns to Andrés, which he instantly regrets because the space between them is almost non-existent. It gives him flashbacks to when they were dancing, only this time it’s different because Andrés _knows_.

He should put some distance between them, not to ruin it all once again, but he can’t move, mesmerized by Andrés’ gaze. Andrés, who has a hand on his side, and who seems to be looking for something to say. He looks briefly down at Martín.

“I like your shirt,” he says. Then he closes his eyes and sighs, shaking his head a little like it wasn’t quite what he meant to say. His eyes flicker back to Martín’s. “I like you.”

Martín blinks, but he still can’t take his eyes away from Andrés’.

“You— what uh—”

It feels like his brain has shut down, and his cheeks turn warmer. The corner of Andrés’ mouth curls up in the most delicate way.

“I like you.” 

This time no stupid words come out when Martín opens his mouth. Andrés places his hand on the back of Martín’s neck, his thumb softly stroking the skin right behind his ear. Martín struggles to fight the pull he feels between him and Andrés and wonders if Andrés feels it too. 

The expectation of what is about to happen, what he hopes is about to happen, already makes him breathe faster.

His mouth is left slightly open, and Andrés’ eyes flicker to it briefly. His face is close now, Martín feels his hot breath on his lips, and the intensity of the moment makes his eyes flutter shut, right before Andrés’ lips meet his. It’s just their lips pressed together, but it might be the best thing Martín has ever felt.

It doesn’t last nearly long enough before Andrés draws back and looks at Martín.

“Is this okay?”

Martín can’t get any words out, so he just nods, which makes Andrés instantly close the distance between them again, while Martín’s arms find their way to Andrés’ hips. 

Andrés’ lips part a little, and Martín mirrors it, allowing their tongues to meet, and his head is spinning. The desire surges through him in an almost overwhelming way, and he raises a hand to bury it in Andrés’ hair. The kiss quickly turns more urgent, and Martín is embarrassingly hard already, he wants everything at the same time. 

He’s pulled closer to Andrés, moaning into his mouth when their bodies press together. And it’s like that sound makes him realize that he shouldn’t be doing this, Andrés probably doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want Martín’s erection digging into his thigh, and this is wrong— 

He pulls back and presses his hand against Andrés’ chest to get some distance.

Andrés tries to catch his breath, which tells Martín that maybe he wanted it, everything, just as badly as Martín does, but it’s all so overwhelming. The expression in Andrés’ eyes is confused.

“I’m sorry, it’s—”

Martín stops talking because he doesn’t know how to explain.

“Don’t worry. It’s alright. Let’s sit for a while?” 

Martín nods, still fighting to steady his breathing. Andrés sits down first, and when Martín sits down he makes sure there’s some space between them, because God, he needs that right now, to be able to function normally. Initially, he tries to cover up his boner by crossing his legs, but it’s an impossible task, so he just gives up. Andrés must be aware of it anyway. 

The silence right now is awkward, but Martín can’t think of anything meaningful to say. He buries his head in his slightly trembling hands.

Andrés sits next to him, patiently. Martín is so grateful that he doesn’t ask too much, but nevertheless, he wishes that he had something to tell him. 

“Are you alright?” Andrés asks in a worried tone, and Martín doesn’t want him to worry.

“Yeah, I’m alright.”

He wants to explain why he backed away, but how do you explain something you barely understand yourself? One minute he was enjoying himself, enjoying Andrés, and the next minute everything just feels wrong. Like he suddenly remembered what he’s been told his whole life, that this isn’t normal, that guys shouldn’t be kissing guys.

When he looks up from his hands, Andrés is absentmindedly biting his finger, looking nervous.

“It’s not that I didn’t like it,” Martín offers. He needs Andrés to know that.

“Oh, I know.” Andrés doesn’t wink at him, but he might as well have, because there’s this glimpse in his eyes, and Martín chuckles, causing the tension to break.

“I never kissed a guy before.” 

Why does Martín have to blush every time he tries to open up? Luckily the sun is almost gone, so maybe Andrés won’t notice.

“Me neither,” Andrés says, and somehow it surprises Martín. Andrés mentioned ex-girlfriends, but he didn’t seem hesitant when he kissed Martín.

“It’s just—” Martín tries again, wanting to explain, maybe to himself as well “—I was always told that it was wrong. And then when I did it—” He shakes his head, looking for the right words, his fingers clawing at the fabric of his jeans. “Fuck.”

“You don’t have to explain—”

“But I want to! I want to explain, Andrés, because it makes no sense to me, either. Why can’t I just enjoy it? It’s like my body is still convinced that it’s not right.”

“That makes sense.”

Andrés tries with a hand on Martín’s back, and Martín lets him do it.

“Does it?” 

“I think so. You should just take your time, don’t rush it.”

Martín shrugs. 

“What if it never changes?”

“I’m sure it will. We should head back, it’s late, and you have school tomorrow.”

They walk back through the dark city, and when they find themselves in front of Andrés’ apartment, Martín really doesn’t want to leave. They just stand there in front of each other, smiling, and Martín starts laughing because it’s so stupid.

“I don’t have a lecture before 10 tomorrow,” he says, hoping Andrés will catch the hint. He does.

“Do you want a beer?”

Andrés puts on some music before getting each of them a beer, and they sit together on the couch. Martín has trouble focusing on his beer because Andrés’ leg keeps brushing his, and it sends jolts of electricity right through him. Eventually, he gives up and places the bottle on the table. Andrés does the same.

When he turns to look at Andrés, his brown eyes are dark, and Martín really wants to kiss him. He reaches to put a hand behind his neck to pull him closer, and their lips meet once again. Martín does want to take it slow, but his body seems to be in a hurry, the way his fingers are burning to touch Andrés. It still takes a bit to convince his mind to actually place his hand on Andrés’ thigh, and it’s just his thigh, but it feels like he has finally broken some kind of spell. 

There’s one of Andrés’ hands on Martín’s shoulder, and it seems restless like it isn’t quite where it wants to be. 

“I want to touch you, Martín.”

His voice is hoarse, and he’s so beautiful.

Martín can’t decide if he’s more overwhelmed by the thought that he wants to touch him or that he actually asks for permission. Either way, he nods.

Andrés resumes the kissing while his hand slowly slides down Martín’s chest and stomach. He is pushed back down on the couch when Andrés’ hand hesitantly slides under his shirt. Martín trembles under the touch, feeling like he’s being touched for the first time ever. 

“Tell me if I do anything you don’t like.”

Martín nods, and suddenly Andrés is kissing his neck and Martín is moaning because _he really likes this, fuck_ , Andrés has certainly found his weak spot, every touch of his lips goes directly to Martín’s crotch.

He should probably ask for permission to touch Andrés, too, but his arms are acting on instinct, pulling Andrés’ body close to his, finding an erection matching his own. The fact that Andrés is turned on by him is exciting in itself, then he grinds against him and fuck— 

He hisses from the sensation and whispers a shaky:

“Andrés.”

Andrés stops immediately and looks at him, visibly taking a moment to gather his thoughts.

“What?”

Martín clears his throat and tries to resist the urge to move against Andrés.

“I want to—”

He isn’t sure what he wants, but he wants something, he needs something. More. 

“What do you want, Martín?” 

Andrés kisses him, a quick kiss on the lips.

“Shit, I don’t even know.” He laughs nervously. “To touch you. For you to touch me. I don’t know.”

Andrés sits up and pulls Martín with him.

“Come on.”

They’re holding hands when they walk to Andrés’ bedroom, and somehow the fact that they’re now in a bedroom makes him a little nervous. His body doesn’t care, his boner is still straining violently against his pants when he lies down on the bed, facing Andrés. He decides to drown his nervousness in a kiss and pulls Andrés close. For some reason it surprises him how eager Andrés is to kiss him back, his tongue no longer hesitant to slide past his lips. 

He could totally get used to this. 

Andrés slides his hand between their bodies, up Martín’s thigh, to the bulge in his pants. Martín moans into his mouth, which is embarrassing, he shouldn’t moan like that just by someone palming him through his jeans. He presses involuntarily against Andrés’ hand to get some friction, and Andrés makes space to unbutton his jeans, then works on the zipper, and soon his hand is going to be around Martín’s dick, but what if Andrés doesn’t like it, what if Martín does something wrong, he’s never been with a guy before—

“Martín.”

He becomes aware of his fingers digging into Andrés’ arm, and that he’s been holding his breath. He exhales slowly.

“It’s alright,” Andrés reassures him with a smile. 

“It’s alright,” Martín repeats, only a whisper.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No! No, I’m just— Can I touch you, too?”

“Of course.”

It takes him a lot of self-control to focus on opening Andrés’ pants, while his own dick is pulled out. When he wraps his fingers around Andrés’ dick - after a moment of hesitation because it’s really beautiful and so hard already - it elicits the softest moan from Andrés, which only adds to Martín’s already overwhelming desire. 

The long fingers around his dick are doing all the right things, and Martín just _knows_ that he won’t last nearly as long as he wants to. 

He meets Andrés’ eyes, and the way he looks back at Martín makes him feel so safe. Like this is actually alright. How could it be wrong, when it feels so good, and when Andrés enjoys it, too? Because he does, Martín can see him biting his lip and closing his eyes in pleasure. 

He waited so long for this to happen, not sure it ever would, but it turns out it was worth the wait.

Sure enough, he feels the burning sensation in his abdomen way too soon. He tries to think of something else, to make it last, but nothing does the trick. Andrés must have seen it on his face, because his gaze is burning, and his hand starts moving faster. 

Martín wants to tell him to slow down, but then Andrés speaks. 

“Come for me, Martín.”

And he does, desperately trying to hide his face in the sheets when he moans and shudders. 

It takes him a moment to come back to his senses, Andrés is still very hard in his hand, thrusting into his fist because Martín couldn’t focus on moving his hand. He resumes the movement, faster than before, when Andrés keeps thrusting, seemingly unable to control himself.

“Kiss me,” Andrés says in an urgent tone before gripping his hair and pulling Martín close. The kiss is filthy and wet, and soon Andrés is moaning loudly into his mouth while spilling all over Martín’s hand. Andrés kisses him a little less desperately before he pulls away with a grin on his face.

A small voice in the back of Martín’s head reminds him that this is dirty and wrong, but he can’t do anything but mirror Andrés’ smile, because this was also amazing. He did this to Andrés, he made him feel fucking good, the blush still coloring his cheeks and the evidence of his pleasure right there on Martín’s hand.

Afterward, Martín wonders if he should get up and leave. He doesn’t want to, but maybe Andrés expects it of him. After all, it’s not like they’re a couple, and he has a lecture tomorrow morning. 

“I should get home.”

Andrés follows him, not saying anything but “okay”, and suddenly everything is awkward. Martín puts on his shoes, and then they just stand there like - well, like two guys who just jerked each other off and don’t really know what to do next.

Martín wants to stay, at least he wants to know when, if, they will see each other again, but he doesn’t ask. He just says “see you,” and Andrés says it back, touching his arm and leaving a burning sensation.

On his way home he feels lighter than he has for a very long time, not only because he got off, but because the secret he has kept for years is no longer a secret. Now Andrés knows too, and it’s as amazing as it’s scary. It fills him with worries and new emotions that have to be sorted out. 

But first, he needs a good night of sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m scared of what people will think of me. I know it’s stupid, but—”
> 
> Andrés is quick to interrupt him.
> 
> “It’s not stupid.” His hand stops its journey for a moment, flat on his stomach. “You grew up thinking it wasn’t normal, right?”
> 
> Martín nods, lowering his gaze, but it only makes Andrés’ hand leave his skin to cup his chin and force him to look back up. Andrés kisses him softly on the lips.
> 
> “You’re perfect as you are, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” Another soft kiss. “Also, whoever made you feel that way is going to hell.”
> 
> The corner of Martín’s mouth twitches at those words, however tight his throat might feel.

Martín doesn’t understand how he manages to get to the lecture the next day, because he has never been this unfocused before. He fell asleep last night thinking about Andrés, and he woke up again thinking about Andrés. He was thinking about Andrés while he showered in the morning (and jerked off), and he’s still thinking about Andrés while sitting in the auditorium. 

He isn’t worried about missing the information from the lecture, because he did his homework, and it seems that he already knows more about the subject than the teacher does. The thing that worries him is that he already misses Andrés, and they saw each other last night, which tells him that he’s all kinds of fucked. Especially because he’s not sure how Andrés feels after their rather awkward goodbye yesterday. Or how he feels about Martín in general. If he feels anything. 

“Martín, what are you doing?”

Damian, who sits next to him, tries to snatch his phone, so Martín quickly exits the conversation with Andrés. He’s been staring at it on and off throughout the lecture, trying to decide if he should text Andrés. He doesn’t want to seem desperate, but he also doesn’t want Andrés to think that he’s not interested. Wow, this must be how normal people feel, when they have a crush on someone, a thing he has never tried before. It’s awful.

“Nothing,” Martín replies and puts his phone away. 

“Is it a girl?”

“No.” Well, at least he doesn’t have to lie. 

“Are you sure? You’re acting weird. I mean, you’re acting like the rest of us.” 

“I’m sure.”

When they get some exercises to solve after the lecture, he manages to concentrate on solving them and explaining everything to Damian, because he hasn’t been listening. 

“I swear, when you get a job, I should receive at least half of your salary. You’ll never make it through without me.”

“And you wouldn’t have a social life without me,” Damian reminds him. “Speaking of, how about going to Lucia’s party tomorrow? I’m sure you would be able to find yourself a girl, her friends are really hot.” He continues telling about one of Lucia’s friends who apparently has “all the right proportions”, but all Martín can think about is that he hopes he’ll spend the night with Andrés instead. 

“I have other plans,” he answers, and when Damian wants to ask about those plans, Martín packs his stuff and goes home. 

He tries to distract himself with some reading, but half an hour later he’s once again fiddling with his phone, trying to decide if he should contact Andrés. He almost drops the phone when it suddenly vibrates. It’s Andrés. Oh god, it’s Andrés. He counts to ten before accepting the call, because he isn’t desperate, after all.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Martín is smiling like an idiot just by hearing that voice again. Great. 

“I wasn’t sure when your lecture would be over.”

“I almost just got home, so your timing is perfect.”

Then Andrés proceeds to ask Martín if he wants to grab a cup of coffee, like nothing ever happened, like things weren’t totally awkward yesterday. Martín tells him the name of his favorite coffee place, where they meet half an hour later.

When Andrés smiles at him, he tries to ignore the giant farm of butterflies in his stomach. He’s not sure how to greet him, so he goes with another “hey,” and that seems to work. It was a good decision to choose a well-known place because as soon as they step inside, the barista, Julia, greets him and starts chatting, and the tension goes away. 

“What can I get you today, the usual?” 

“Yeah, oh and can you make me one of those chocolate croissants I like?” 

“Sure. And what can I get for your friend?”

Julia turns to Andrés, her smile and the way her eyes sparkle telling Martín that she finds him handsome. Suddenly he wishes that he could take Andrés’ hand, right there in front of Julia, so she would stop smiling at him like that. 

“I would like a flat white.”

“Make a chocolate croissant for him, too,” Martín tells her, sending Andrés a small smile. 

“Coming right up. Would you like to sit upstairs?”

“Yeah, thank you.”

Julia removes the chain with the “Closed” sign to let them through and attaches it again, and Martín leads Andrés to his favorite table in front of the window.

“Is there anywhere in his city where you don’t get special treatment?” Andrés asks him when they sit down.

“What can I say, everybody likes me. I am a very likable person.” He laughs.

“You sure are.” Andrés’ gaze is so intense that Martín blushes, but he can’t look away, and he really wants to kiss Andrés. He’s so fucked. 

He almost startles when Julia shows up next to the table with their coffee and croissants, making them break their intense eye-contact. 

“Here you go, gentlemen. Enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you, Julia,” Andrés answers, charming as always. Then he looks down at the chocolate croissant in front of him. 

“Try it, it’s really good,” Martín encourages him.

When Andrés takes a bite, some of the still melted chocolate sticks to his lower lip. The way he licks it away with the tip of his tongue makes Martín’s breath catch in his throat. His thoughts carry him back to last night when that tongue was in his mouth, and those long fingers were— shit. _Don’t go there, Martín_. His pants are already way too tight, and he shifts on the chair.

Judging from the smirk on Andrés’ now chocolate-free lips he caught Martín staring.

“Is something wrong?”

Martín doesn’t like the teasing tone - and at the same time, he does.

“No, not at all.”

He swallows hard and takes a sip of his coffee. His gaze wanders out the window, looking at the crowd of people on the street, and he manages to get his thoughts away from last night’s activities.

“This is my favorite table because I love looking at people. I like to imagine where they’re going, and make up stories about them in my head.”

Andrés follows his gaze.

“Look at that lady with the hat. I bet she’s running late for the train.”

And just like that, they’re back where they used to be. Talking and enjoying each other’s company. Sipping coffee. Until Andrés is looking at Martín, like really _looking_ , and Martín doesn’t know what to do of himself. 

Suddenly he feels Andrés’ foot touch his under the table, and Andrés keeps looking into his eyes when his foot slides up his leg. This shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does, but he involuntarily bites his lip. The foot is soon gone again, but Andrés is still looking into his eyes when he whispers: 

“I want to kiss you.”

Martín’s heart is racing.

“Not— not here.”

He looks nervously around him.

“I know. Do you want to go back to my place?”

Martín nods. He’s having a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that Andrés wants to kiss him. He’s also having a hard time in his pants right now.

“I uh— I need a moment,” he says in a low voice, blushing. Andrés’ smile is smug. 

“It was a really nice coffee shop,” Andrés says as he takes off his shoes inside his apartment. 

“It’s my favorite. And it’s not only because I don’t have to pay for half of the drinks I get.” 

When Martín kicks off his last shoe, Andrés is right in front of him. He lets himself be pushed back against the wall, and soon he feels Andrés’ body flush against his. Their noses are touching. The way he feels trapped, with Andrés’ hands against the wall on both sides of his head, is way too exciting.

“You’re driving me fucking crazy, Martín.” Andrés’ words are barely a whisper against Martín’s lips. 

As soon as he tilts his head, their lips crash against each other, and fuck he has really missed this. Andrés presses himself harder against Martín, who desperately grabs at him to get him even closer. 

They’re both panting when they break the kiss. Andrés has a determined look in his eyes when he grabs Martín’s arm and takes him to the bedroom where he pushes him down on the bed. Andrés straddles him and pulls his shirt off without a word. Then Martín unbuttons Andrés’ shirt and slides it off him. Before he realizes what he’s doing, he is unzipping Andrés’ pants and freeing his cock from his boxers. He tries not to stare too much, but he really wants to— 

“Lie down.” 

He is almost surprised by the words coming out of his mouth, but Andrés does what he is told with his erection sticking out beautifully from his pants. Martín doesn’t even look Andrés in the eyes, his gaze is fixed between his legs when he crawls up between them and grabs the cock with one hand. 

A sudden flicker of nervousness hits him. He has watched his share of blowjobs, and he knows some techniques, but he never— did it. When he looks into Andrés’ eyes and sees how beautifully flushed he is, he decides to just go for it. Keeping eye contact with Andrés, he lowers his head and hesitantly laps at the head of the cock with his tongue. Andrés’ cock twitches at the contact, and his eyes flutter shut, which urges Martín to keep going.

When he wraps his lips around the cock and feels the hotness against his tongue, his own dick twitches so violently that he thinks he’s going to come. It feels weird to have another guy’s dick in his mouth, but it feels damn good, too. Andrés has a hard time keeping still under him when Martín pins down his hips with one hand and starts moving his head. 

“Fuck, Martín, it feels so good.”

Andrés’ words make him blush and take him deeper into his mouth, eliciting a deep groan. He can’t help moaning around the cock when he quickens the pace, because he’s really desperate for release too, already feeling the wetness in his pants. He wants to touch himself, but that would be weird, wouldn’t it? He’s not even sure it would be possible in the position he’s in. Every sound of pleasure coming from Andrés seems to go directly to Martín’s cock.

His attention shifts back to Andrés when he starts becoming more vocal, his hand on Martín’s cheek. 

“Martín— ah, yes, fuck—”

The movement of Andrés’ hips is erratic now, and it’s harder to pin him down.

“I’m gonna come,” Andrés warns him, pushing his head gently.

Martín lets the cock slip out of his mouth. He grabs it with his hand and gives it a few strokes before Andrés comes, his hands desperately grasping the sheets. Martín sits back on his heels, already unzipping his jeans because he just gave his first blowjob, and Andrés came all over himself, and fuck, Martín needs that, too. 

“Come here,” Andrés says, still breathing hard.

“It’s okay, I can—”

“Martín, come here. Please.”

He lies down next to Andrés, who kisses him, hesitantly at first, tasting himself on Martín’s lips. 

“Andrés, please.”

Shit, he really doesn’t like begging like this.

“What do you need?”

Andrés’ voice is raspy and so fucking sexy.

“I need—”

He swallows uncomfortably, suddenly shy.

“Tell me what you need. I want to hear it.”

Andrés drags down his boxers slowly, and Martín lets out a ragged moan.

“I need to come.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, feeling the blush on his cheeks and all the way to his ears. 

“Good. I want you to look at me when you come.”

The long fingers wrap around his cock, and it’s a miracle that he doesn’t come from just that.

“O-okay.”

He forces himself to look into Andrés’ eyes, still blushing. He feels so vulnerable under Andrés’ gaze, and when his orgasm hits him after only a few strokes, he struggles to keep his eyes open.

“So fucking good, Martín,” Andrés whispers when Martín spills on him, and those words make Martín feel a lot of things. 

This time, when Martín is about to get up, Andrés grabs his arm and pulls him back down. 

“Really? That was your first blowjob?” he asks with one brow cocked.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Then it must have been beginner’s luck because it was the best blowjob I ever had.”

A wide smile appears on Martín’s face, and Andrés smiles right back at him. He’s just about to blurt out “I did my share of research” until he realizes that’s the same as admitting he watched a fuckload of porn. So he settles for:

“It was good?”

“Good is an understatement,” Andrés chuckles as he moves closer and captures Martín’s lips in a lazy kiss. 

Martín doesn’t want to break it, but there’s this question that’s been lurking in the back of his head, and he has to ask.

“This was the first time you did anything with a guy, too?”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

Andrés seems to consider it for a moment.

“I haven’t really wanted to do it before.”

“What does that mean? That you didn’t know you were into guys?”

Andrés sighs.

“It’s not that simple. No, maybe I didn’t know I was _into guys_ before, or maybe I’m just— into you? Of course, I’ve looked at the male body and found it beautiful, but I’ve never wanted to do anything with a guy. Before I met you. I mean—” he lowers his gaze to his hand, absentmindedly caressing Martín’s chest, “—how can anyone resist this?”

Martín is already hard again when Andrés’ hand slides down his stomach. Great. He tries to ignore it, because he just got off, and he’s not fifteen anymore.

“What about you? What’s stopping you from telling people? What are you afraid of?”

Andrés isn’t asking in a judging way, more curious, and Martín tries to get his focus away from the hand on his naked skin.

“I’m scared of what people will think of me. I know it’s stupid, but—”

Andrés is quick to interrupt him.

“It’s not stupid.” His hand stops its journey for a moment, flat on his stomach. “You grew up thinking it wasn’t normal, right?”

Martín nods, lowering his gaze, but it only makes Andrés’ hand leave his skin to cup his chin and force him to look back up. Andrés kisses him softly on the lips.

“You’re perfect as you are, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” Another soft kiss. “Also, whoever made you feel that way is going to hell.”

The corner of Martín’s mouth twitches at those words, however tight his throat might feel.

Then Andrés’ hand returns to its rightful place on Martín’s stomach, and it doesn’t take long before it slides under the waistband of his boxers. 

In the evening Andrés takes him out for dinner at a fancy restaurant. He is only slightly embarrassed when Andrés has to explain half of the things on the menu to him, but Andrés is patient with him. He ends up ordering the closest thing to chicken that he is able to find, and Andrés picks the wine. 

He likes exploring his own city with Andrés, and he is thankful that Andrés wants to drag his not-so-fancy ass to places like this. That he doesn’t seem embarrassed at all by bringing Martín, even though he’s just wearing a band shirt and a pair of tight, ripped jeans, while Andrés is looking as perfect as ever in his dress shirt and blazer. 

The food is amazing. Martín does his best not to shove it into his mouth like a wild animal, which, to be honest, he really wants to. 

With his plate now empty, his hand is resting on the table next to it, when suddenly, Andrés’ hand is there, too, their fingers touching slightly. Martín freezes momentarily and tries not to be too obvious when he scans the room, but it’s pretty empty around them. Andrés keeps looking into his eyes when he slowly covers Martín’s hand with his. It’s soft and warm, and it matches the feeling Martín has inside him right at that moment. 

He’s so lost in the sensation that he doesn’t even notice the waiter walking up to their table before Andrés squeezes his hand and lets go, and the waiter appears right beside him, making him startle.

He keeps his hands in his lap for the rest of the evening, still feeling his skin tingle after Andrés’ touch. 

Later on, when he’s deeply focused on telling Andrés about the last paper he wrote when Andrés’ phone rings. Looking at the display, he quickly wipes his mouth and mutters an “excuse me” before leaving the table.

Martín wouldn’t have given it a second thought if it wasn’t for the weird look in Andrés’ eyes when he looked at the display. Was it nervousness? He isn’t sure, but Andrés sure was quick to walk outside. 

“I’m sorry for the interruption,” he says, but the change in his mood is visible, even though he tries to smile. Martín decides that it’s better not to ask, but the rest of their conversation is a little strained. 

Standing outside the restaurant, Martín asks if they should go back to Andrés’ place. 

“I can’t tonight, I have— another appointment.” 

“Oh.” 

It’s not like Andrés has to spend all of his time with Martín. It’s okay. And Martín recently ignored him for days without any explanation, so really, it’s only fair if Andrés has other stuff to do, too. But Martín— he wants to spend all of his time with Andrés. Which is stupid, because he will end up getting disappointed every time he can’t. 

Andrés is about to say something when his phone rings again. He looks at it once, then at Martín, and says:

“I’ll call you, okay?”

But he doesn’t. Martín stays close to his phone for the rest of the evening, but Andrés doesn’t call. When it’s close to midnight, Martín considers calling him, but then it occurs to him that Andrés didn’t say that he would call _today_. He just said that he would call, no specific point in time was mentioned. If he had an appointment this evening, he surely wouldn’t have time to call Martín. He almost succeeded in convincing himself of that when he falls asleep with his phone next to him on the bed.

The next day Martín wakes at noon. No missed calls on his phone. 

He doesn’t have any lectures today, but he’ll have to study for the test he has next week, so he decides to have something to eat first, and heads to the coffee shop. When he’s walking down the street, he spots him. Andrés. Sitting outside a café. With a girl. 

It hits him like a punch in the gut, and he comes to a halt in the middle of the street, not caring about the people muttering around him. Andrés has his back to him, luckily. Martín wants to look away, but he can’t. He looks at the girl. He wishes he could say that she isn’t that good-looking, but she looks like a damn supermodel, concentrated on her conversation with Andrés. 

Martín is aware that he is probably overreacting, but suddenly he’s no longer hungry. He walks back home. 

It’s not like Andrés can’t have friends, of course, he can have female friends, too. Shit, why is he even thinking about what Andrés can and can’t have, it’s not like Andrés is his— boyfriend. He doesn’t get to decide what he can do. It’s just— Andrés hasn’t called him back like he implied he would. And this girl might have been the appointment he had last night. Which is fair. If only he wasn’t so damn afraid that Andrés needed her, because there are some things that Martín just can’t give him. And he’s not only thinking of specific parts of the female body. Martín can’t even hold his hand in public, and who wouldn’t get turned off by that?

The thoughts are whirling inside Martín’s head when he gets home. He can’t help going through today’s events and wonder where it went wrong. Was he too eager? Too much? Did he say something wrong? Maybe it was just the time he asked Andrés not to kiss him in the coffee shop. 

Luckily the subject of the upcoming test is exciting enough to drown out the thoughts for a while.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wow, I really like this one,” Martín exclaims when they taste the second red wine. 
> 
> “Yeah? It’s one of my favorites.”
> 
> He isn’t lying, Martín sees it in his eyes when he sips the wine and swallows it. How his eyes narrow at the taste, how the dark wine colors his lips. Suddenly the distance between them is too much, even though they’re standing right next to each other. Martín lets his fingers brush against Andrés’ arm. Andrés smiles at him. He smiles back, and it’s alright, he can wait until they get home to kiss those pink lips.

In the afternoon, Andrés finally calls him. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you before. Something— came up.”

_Yeah, I know_. Martín clenches his fist and tries to sound convincing.

“Don’t worry. It’s not like I didn’t have anything else to do.”

Okay, that came out a tad more bitter than intended. 

“Are you free this evening?”

Martín actually agreed to go to a party with Damian, but somehow the words that come out of his mouth are:

“Totally free.”

“Good. Do you remember when you told me that all red wines tasted the same?”

“Yes. Which is the truth.”

“Don’t go there, Martín,” Andrés chuckles. “I decided that it isn’t acceptable behavior. I can’t spend time with someone who is so brilliant in some subjects, but can’t tell a Merlot from a Chiraz. Which is why I’m taking you to a wine tasting.”

When Martín imagined wine tastings, he imagined small, intimate events with a few people seated around a table, sipping wine and hearing stories about the different sorts. Dim lights, low music and the smell of good wine. This is nothing like what he imagined.

Well, the smell of wine is there. It’s literally aisles of booths serving wine. For free. Martín has a hard time believing that he won’t have to pay anything to get drunk on wine, and he’s already excited.

“Are you ready?” Andrés asks, and Martín nods eagerly. “Obviously we’re not getting to taste all of the wines. I’m thinking we’re taking a trip to Italy today. Follow me.”

And Martín does, because he has no idea where to go or how to act at an event like this. So he follows Andrés to the first booth, where Andrés starts chatting with the winemaker like they know each other. Well, maybe they do. Martín takes his glass and is just about to drink the wine, when Andrés stops him. 

“Try to sniff it first.”

Andrés sniffs it, he swirls it around in his glass and does all kinds of weird things instead of actually drinking the wine. 

Martín sniffs his wine.

“Smells good.”

Then he drinks it. And Andrés laughs softly at him, before finally sipping his own wine.

“You’re not here to get drunk. You’re here to learn to appreciate the wine.”

“Speak for yourself, senor,” Martín says and moves to the next booth.

This time Andrés grabs a glass and holds it in front of Martín’s face. 

“Try to actually sniff this one, and tell me what you think.”

Martín rolls his eyes, but sniffs it and closes his eyes.

“Do you think it smells like the other one?”

“No, it smells— better?”

“Notice the flavor of peach”

Martín nods and drinks his wine. It’s a very nice wine, but he can’t taste the peach. It tastes like wine. 

When he sees Andrés spit out his wine in a bucket, he makes a face that makes Andrés laugh.

“I thought that was only a thing people did in movies.”

“If you want to taste more than a few wines, it’s necessary, if you don’t want to end up totally hammered.” 

Martín fights the urge to ask what the point of drinking is, then, because he thinks it’s awfully sexy that Andrés is so passionate about wine. 

After visiting a few more booths he realizes that maybe Andrés is right, because it is a lot of wine in a short time, his body agrees. So the next time he remembers spitting out his wine, but it feels ridiculous, because it was a tasty wine. Maybe it’s an effect of the alcohol, but he is sure he tasted a hint of pineapple this time. 

They take a detour to get some snacks at a nearby table.

“What do you think?” Andrés asks.

“It’s interesting.”

“You hate it, right?”

“No! I mean, I don’t get why you would spit out alcohol, it still doesn’t make sense to me. But I like it when you tell me about the wine. It’s amazing how much you know, we don’t even need the winemakers.”

Martín’s words make Andrés look pleased.

“My mother was really into wine, before she— yeah, you know. So I guess it’s just in my blood.”

“There isn’t nearly enough wine in your blood if you keep spitting it out,” Martín jokes. He’s never seen Andrés drunk, and he wouldn’t mind that.

“I think we’ll move on to the red wines now, you won’t see me spitting out much of that.”

It’s like Andrés’ stories about wine become more interesting the more wine Martín drinks - which is fitting, because the more wine Andrés has, the longer his stories get. 

“Wow, I really like this one,” Martín exclaims when they taste the second red wine. 

“Yeah? It’s one of my favorites.”

He isn’t lying, Martín sees it in his eyes when he sips the wine and swallows it. How his eyes narrow at the taste, how the dark wine colors his lips. Suddenly the distance between them is too much, even though they’re standing right next to each other. Martín lets his fingers brush against Andrés’ arm. Andrés smiles at him. He smiles back, and it’s alright, he can wait until they get home to kiss those pink lips. 

Martín is tipsy, but he feels more at ease now. Not only with Andrés, but in general. He doesn’t feel as out of place as he did when they arrived, he stopped caring a couple of wines ago. Which is why he starts chatting with the winemaker in the next booth, even before Andrés does.

He only realizes after some time that the winemaker is in fact really handsome, and that he’s very much flirting with Martín. He realizes that mostly because of the way Andrés’ eyes narrow when the winemaker steps out of the booth to show Martín how to swirl the wine properly, placing an unnecessary hand on his arm. 

When they walk away from the booth, Andrés places a very insistent hand on the small of Martín’s back, and Martín lets him.

After that, it becomes a lot harder to keep his hands away from Andrés. A hand on his shoulder, their arms brushing against each other. Martín is well aware that he probably doesn’t know a single soul at this wine tasting, but he can’t risk anything, so he keeps to the random touches.

He might be a little more than tipsy now, not that he’s going to admit it.

“I need a snack. And some water.”

“Me too. Let’s sit down over there.”

Apparently, Andrés has been at this exact place a thousand times before, because he leads Martín to a secluded corner of the room with a few couches and a table holding different snacks. It’s almost out of view for the rest of the guests, so Martín decides to sit down really close to Andrés.

“This is nice.”

He’s not only talking about the heat from Andrés’ leg against his own.

Seeing the snacks, Martín realizes that he’s really hungry and almost empties one of the plates. He shrugs when Andrés shoots him a puzzled glance.

“I didn’t have dinner.”

Then he leans back and looks at Andrés, the alcohol making him relaxed and just downright happy. Andrés is so beautiful, and Martín wants to tell him that, but for some reason, he can’t get the words past his lips.

“I wish I could kiss you right now,” Andrés whispers as he places his hand on Martín’s thigh, and the room is suddenly too hot. The alcohol is blurring the lines, taking away most of Martín’s common sense, especially when Andrés looks at him like this and licks his lips with the tip of his pink tongue. 

“Andrés—”

Martín’s lips are parted, and he is so close to just _doing it_. He wants to taste the wine on Andrés’ tongue, and he wants it right now. It would be so easy to lean forward and press his lips against Andrés’, it’s not like people are looking anyway. 

Without realizing what he’s doing, his index finger traces Andrés’ lower lip, it’s wet, and— 

Andrés grabs his wrist and stops his hand from moving, and for a moment Martín is sure that he did something wrong until Andrés closes his lips around the tip of his finger. Their gazes are locked when Andrés’ tongue flicks over Martín’s finger and takes it further into his mouth. 

Martín gasps, too loud for their location, but he can’t help it, he just hopes no one notices because he can’t tear his gaze away from Andrés’. He’s panting, fucking panting, when Andrés slides the finger in and out a couple of times before letting go of it. 

Martín sits frozen for a couple of seconds before he notices the tenting of his pants. His thoughts are so inappropriate and he’s pretty sure his mouth is still slightly open, but he can’t focus on closing it. 

“Have you had enough wine?” Andrés interrupts his thoughts. 

He finally manages to close his mouth and nod. Andrés looks way too pleased with having put Martín in this state.

“Want to go to my place?”

He nods again. His boner won’t go away soon, so he stops caring about it before he gets up. On his way out he takes a few glasses from a random booth and downs them without paying attention to the winemaker behind the desk.

The fresh air and the darkness outside makes it a little easier for Martín to control himself, when he speeds up to get to Andrés’ apartment as quickly as possible. Andrés struggles to follow him.

“I’m sorry if that was— too much?”

Martín slows down and turns his head to Andrés, shaking it in a quick motion.

“No, I— I just want you, like, very much.”

He laughs, embarrassed. 

Then Andrés’ hand brushes his, and he’s tempted to take it, but it’s too risky, so instead he buries his hands in his pockets, even though it makes it more difficult to walk in a straight line.

“I’m sorry,” he says, just loud enough for Andrés to hear.

“Huh?”

“That I’m such a fucking coward.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it.”

Andrés touches his arm, but Martín shrugs away, almost stumbling.

“Yes, I should worry about it! I just— I want to hold your hand, and I can’t even do that. What the fuck is wrong with me?”

Suddenly the girl he saw Andrés with earlier springs into his mind, and he realizes this is the exact reason Andrés isn’t satisfied with him. This is exactly what pushes him away and into the arms of some girl. There are too many emotions inside him right now, and he tries to think back to just a few moments ago, where he was happy and horny. He wants to go back to that mood. 

“Martín. I don’t think we should have this conversation right here on the street.”

Martín sighs loudly.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. Again. Thank you for bringing me to the wine tasting, it was fun.”

“You’re only saying that because you got to drink a lot of wine for free.”

“And because you were there.”

Despite the dark he sees the glimpse when Andrés flashes his teeth in a smile. 

“Are you sure you want me here?” Martín asks, when they get inside Andrés’ apartment, not fully able to let go of the negative thoughts, but Andrés just laughs.

“Why wouldn’t I want you here? Don’t you want to be here?”

“Of course I do. I just—”

Martín stops when Andrés cups his chin with his hand, a little roughly. He has to blink before he is able to focus on Andrés’ face. 

“What will I have to do to make you understand that I enjoy your company?”

His voice is kind of stern when he asks, and Martín wants to step back, but he doesn’t. Instead he says:

“Kiss me.”

Because that’s what he has been craving for the last couple of hours, and Andrés’ lips are still very pink from the wine. So inviting.

Andrés doesn’t hesitate before he pulls Martín in for a kiss. Martín just wants him close, he tugs at his shirt, grabs his hair, and almost loses his balance. 

“You’re not going to puke, are you?” Andrés asks when he breaks the kiss.

“Shut up,” Martín mutters before he drags Andrés to the bedroom. 

“I want to see you naked.”

Despite his intake of wine, Martín still manages to blush at those words, maybe because of the way Andrés looks at him, his stance so demanding. With a slight nod he pulls his shirt over his head. 

“I’ll take it from here,” Andrés tells him and comes closer to open his pants, pulling them down with his boxers. And there Martín is, naked in the middle of Andrés’ bedroom, feeling very self-conscious, his arms hanging stupidly down his sides. 

“You have a beautiful body.”

Martín clenches his fists and swallows. He has no idea what to say. When Andrés notices how tense he is, he smiles. 

“Relax.” 

He traces Martín’s jawline with a finger, continuing down his neck, and Martín shudders. The finger moves down his chest, his stomach, and the hand comes to rest on his hip. Martín stands completely still, even though his body practically screams at him to touch Andrés. But there’s something about Andrés in this moment, that makes Martín want to let him lead, see where he takes them. 

Andrés, who is still fully clothed, and even though it’s intimidating, it’s also _so_ hot. 

Martín’s eyes close when Andrés traces his jawline with his lips just to nibble at his ear. Then his mouth is at his neck, biting down gently, but enough for Martín to let out a moan. 

The finger from before now traces his spine and stops right before meeting his ass. Andrés’ hand cups his buttock, and his fingers slide down between his thighs, then up— 

Martín gasps involuntarily when he feels a finger between his buttocks, edging closer to his hole. It’s just a hesitant touch, but it already makes his legs shaky. 

“You like that?” Andrés breathes.

“F-fuck, yes,” Martín manages to say, not sure if he should be embarrassed of admitting it, and suddenly he is clinging to Andrés, pressing himself to his body. He tries to relax as much as possible to give Andrés easier access, the finger teasing and gently massaging.

“Have you, uh—” Andrés tries to catch his own breath, he is just touching Martín, and he is already breathing so hard “—have you ever done that? With a finger, or...?”

“Yes,” Martín whispers and starts kissing Andrés desperately. But the finger is removed, which makes him draw back. 

“Tell me about it,” Andrés demands, and Martín swallows. 

“I—” even in his current drunk state he’s blushing violently, forcing the words over his lips “—I tried with my own fingers.”

He starts opening Andrés’ pants to hopefully distract him, and it seems to work, since Andrés takes off his shirt and steps out of his pants. 

The sight of Andrés, naked, makes Martín stop breathing for just a moment. He doesn’t mind if he’s staring, it’s not like he can force his eyes away from the beautiful body in front of him. The slender body with the small patch of hair on the chest and the dark patch on the stomach leading down to a very erect dick. 

This is truly everything Martín could ever ask for. 

When he approaches Andrés and pulls him close, it’s almost too much, this amount of warm skin against his, this other body so desperate to touch his, to get even closer. They stumble down on the bed, kissing desperately, grinding against each other, and Martín is totally satisfied with this, with coming on Andrés’ stomach, dick caught between their bodies, when Andrés stops moving and asks:

“Can I try it? I mean, my finger inside you.”

He looks almost nervous when he asks, and Martín’s heart flutters. He nods slowly.

The nervousness decides to kick in when he’s on his side next to Andrés, and Andrés squeezes a bit of lube into his hand. He takes a deep breath.

“Are you sure you want it?” Andrés asks, his hand hovering mid-air. 

“I want it. I’m just— a little nervous?”

He shrugs and folds up one leg.

“I will be gentle,” Andrés says before kissing him. Then Martín feels a finger gently massaging his hole, and he stops breathing for a moment. He lets out a strangled sound when Andrés’ finger enters him. He only ever did this to himself, and it feels weird not to be in total control over what happens. Andrés breaks the kiss.

“Is it okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

Andrés nods and pushes inside slowly, while looking into Martín’s eyes, searching for any reaction. He even bites his lip out of concentration, which makes Martín all warm inside. When Andrés’ finger is buried inside him, he finally manages to relax - his dick twitching when he thinks about it - and soon Andrés is fucking him slowly with his finger. 

He needs to do something, so he wraps his fingers around Andrés’ cock and starts stroking him in the rhythm of his finger. Andrés kisses his neck, and Martín is squirming needily. Without thinking he whispers:

“Please, Andrés, fuck me.”

It’s probably the wine making the words just burst out of his mouth, because most of his fantasies weren’t about Andrés actually fucking him. He’s not even sure he’s ready for taking that step, but right now, with Andrés’ finger already inside him, feeling so safe, he can’t think of anything else. 

Andrés makes a strangled sound and stops moving his finger. “Fuck, I really want to do that.” 

He is panting hard, his sweaty forehead resting against Martín’s.

“I don’t think this is the time, though.”

“Andrés, please.”

Martín’s voice is shaky from his need, but Andrés’ finger retreats. 

“You’re drunk Martín. I know you want it, but— I don’t want you to be drunk.”

Martín sighs, but he doesn’t argue and accepts the soft kiss Andrés offers him. 

“I know,” Andrés mutters. “Turn around.”

Martín obliges without any questions, and when Andrés presses his body to his back, he shivers. Andrés cock is hot between his buttocks, and his hand is lazily stroking Martín’s cock. 

“Believe me, I want it too, I want it so bad,” Andrés whispers in Martín’s ear and starts moving against him. 

“Shit,” Martín hisses, and Andrés’ hand around his cock tightens.

“One day, I will come inside you,” Andrés pants in his ear, and Martín is so fucking close. 

“Fuck me,” he whimpers needily and thrusts into Andrés’ hand, his moves erratic. “Please, fuck me.”

“I will,” Andrés groans, and Martín moves one last time before he comes with an open-mouthed moan. 

He doesn’t care about the mess when he interlaces his fingers with Andrés’ in his post-orgasm haze. Andrés clutches his hand just as he comes between their bodies, moaning Martín’s name, and Martín has never been happier. Maybe it’s the wine, but his throat tightens, and he has to swallow a couple of times before he is able to face Andrés. 

He let’s Andrés wipe his back before he turns around. There’s something about the look in Andrés’ eyes that makes the butterflies come to life in his stomach. Andrés looks at him for a moment before he asks:

“Do you have to go home?”

“No, I can stay if— if it’s not a problem?”

Martín stifles a yawn, and to be honest, he’s not sure he would even be able to walk home, the state of exhaustion he’s in.

“I would like you to stay. How about a shower and a change of sheets before we go to sleep?”

His body feels too heavy to drag out of bed, just wanting to close his eyes and fall asleep instantly, but he nods and follows Andrés to the bathroom. They shower together, and even though it’s not the first time, he’s still mesmerized at the sight of Andrés’ naked body, his skin wet and glistening. They end up entangled in a heated kiss, but both too tired to take it further.

When Martín has dried himself off and comes back to the bedroom, Andrés has already changed the sheets. He’s standing next to the bed, still completely naked, a drop of water from his wet hair making it down his chest, and— Martín can’t believe it. That this shockingly handsome guy - man - wants him. Wants to kiss and touch him. Wants him to sleep in his bed. 

Andrés lets go of the pillow in his hand and walks over to Martín.

“What are you thinking about?”

Andrés takes his hand - he fucking _takes his hand_ \- and looks into his eyes like he cares about him. Which just makes even less sense, because why would he? 

“Nothing.” He sighs, because he wants to talk to Andrés, like he has never wanted to talk to anyone else, but he also doesn’t want Andrés to know what’s actually going on inside his head. He hates it when alcohol has this effect on him, making all of his feelings come to the surface, ruining his mood and making him doubt every single good thing in his life. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I don’t see why you would want— me, of all people. Look at you, you could probably get whoever you like.”

Andrés places a soft kiss on his forehead and tugs gently at his arm, walking towards the bed. Martín follows him and gets under the clean sheets next to Andrés. Andrés turns off the light, and Martín is thankful, because every conversation is easier when people can’t see him. 

“Is this about earlier? When you said you were a coward?”

Martín feels Andrés’ eyes on him, and his hand behind his neck.

“Yeah, that, too.”

“Martín. I’m serious when I tell you not to worry about it. You just came out to me, it’s not like I suspect things to move quickly. I would love to hold your hand on the street, but that’s not the most important thing right now.”

Andrés pulls him close, making Martín bury his head right under his chin. 

“Aren’t you afraid of people’s reactions?”

Andrés lets out a small snort. 

“I don’t care a lot about people’s reactions.”

Martín shuffles closer to Andrés and plasters his body to him. 

“Thank you for being so patient with me.”

It feels nice and warm under the crispy, clean sheets in Andrés’ arms. He tries not to worry about the fact that it probably won’t last, that Andrés will lose his patience somewhere along the road, but he’s here right now, and that’s what matters. 

With his arm wrapped around Andrés, he drifts off to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We need to talk.”
> 
> That’s the only thing he says. No emotion whatsoever in his voice. And Martín’s heart starts pounding violently, the blood is rushing in his ears when he leans against the wall behind him and slowly slides down into a sitting position. 
> 
> “Okay.”
> 
> “Can you come over now?”
> 
> _No_. He doesn’t want to come over. He doesn’t want it to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I haven't replied to your comments on the last chapter yet (real life got in the way), but I appreciate them and I love every one of you!  
> Please forgive me and keep commenting <3

When Martín wakes up in the morning, Andrés is no longer in the bed. He sits up with a groan - his head isn’t in the best state after all of the wine yesterday. When he hears Andrés talking in the living room, he listens. It’s not that he wants to listen to Andrés’ private conversations, he isn’t like that, but he can’t help it. 

Unfortunately, Andrés speaks in a very hushed voice, like he doesn’t want Martín to hear it. Or maybe Martín is just overreacting. He isn’t able to hear most of what he’s saying, but one thing he hears.

“No, I can’t let him know. Not yet.”

A shiver runs through Martín’s body at those words. Not the kind of shivers that makes your body actually move, but the icy feeling that creeps up your back when something feels _wrong_. Andrés _has_ seemed off lately. 

Is he talking about Martín? Of course, he is, why else would he try to make sure that he didn’t hear him? Or maybe he just didn’t want to wake him up?

Either way, it doesn’t feel right. Yesterday they were having so much fun, Andrés comforted him when he was insecure, convincing Martín that he cares, and now this. Now he’s hiding things. What doesn’t he want him to know? Yet. 

He has a bad feeling in his body when he picks up his boxers from the floor and puts them on. He dresses and then he waits, not sure if he should walk into the living room or not. When Andrés doesn’t speak any longer, he opens the door.

If he wasn’t sure if Andrés was talking about him before, he is convinced when Andrés almost startles at the sight of him in the door. 

“Oh, good morning.”

Andrés puts his phone in his pocket, and Martín swallows and forces a smile.

“Good morning.” 

He doesn’t want to stay. He doesn’t want Andrés to say anything, afraid that he’s going to confirm his fears. And knowing that if he ignores the subject, if he starts talking about anything else, Martín will just think that he’s trying to hide something.

“Do you want to get some breakfast?”

“No thanks, I have to get home.” 

The thought of food makes his stomach turn in an unpleasant way, and he’s not sure if it’s the wine or the fear of what will happen.

“Oh. Okay. Is something wrong?”

Andrés seems taken aback by his answer, which doesn’t make sense. But when he approaches Martín with that disappointed look on his face, something inside Martín turns instantly soft.

“I’m sorry, I’m just a bit stressed about my studies right now. A lot of assignments at the same time. And I’m not really hungry.”

“Yeah, I’m a bit hungover, too. Don’t worry, you should take care of those assignments, and I’ll see you another day.”

Andrés pulls him in for a kiss, and Martín’s body responds to it without even asking his mind first. It’s so easy, right there in Andrés’ arms, with his tongue inside his mouth, to forget everything. But he has to protect himself. He pulls away, ignoring the interest his dick shows in the activity. 

“Yeah, see you.” 

The day turns out to be longer than any other day, even though Martín tries to activate himself to stop thinking. 

The only explanation is that Andrés is back together with his ex, or maybe he met another girl. That he figured out he didn’t like guys anyway. That Martín disappointed him. 

What Martín doesn’t understand is why he didn’t just say it, why he kissed him, pretended that nothing was wrong. They’re not even in a relationship, it would be so easy for Andrés just to tell Martín “no thank you, I like girls better.” Martín would even understand that

Next, Martín wonders if he should do it. Break up with Andrés, or whatever it’s called when they’re not even together yet. But he can’t bring himself to do it. He can’t. There’s still this small chance that Martín misunderstood everything, that Andrés still wants him. A small chance, but it’s there, and Martín holds on to it. He shouldn’t, that’s not how he protects himself, but he doesn’t care. That small chance is the only thing that prevents him from crashing, and he clings to it like a fucking lifesaver.

Until the next afternoon when Andrés calls him and tells him that they _need to talk_. 

“We need to talk.”

That’s the only thing he says. No emotion whatsoever in his voice. And Martín’s heart starts pounding violently, the blood is rushing in his ears when he leans against the wall behind him and slowly slides down into a sitting position. 

“Okay.”

“Can you come over now?”

_No_. He doesn’t want to come over. He doesn’t want it to end.

“Sure.”

Martín isn’t sure if they even say goodbye before they hang up. He’s not sure of anything anymore, everything is blurry. 

This isn’t unexpected. This is just Martín. Known for ruining anything good before it even begins.   
The tears aren’t coming, he’s just sitting there on the floor, shaking, hugging his legs to his chest. This might be the first time he has actually _wanted_ to cry because the pain in his chest and throat is unbearable, but the tears that would bring him relief don’t come. 

Eventually, not sure how much time passed, he gets up.

When he leaves his home it’s like he’s on auto-pilot. He doesn’t remember putting on his shoes, shutting the door, turning around the corner. But he’s close to Andrés’ apartment, and this might very well be the last time he walks this route. He tries not to think about it. 

How did he fuck this up so quickly? 

They’re not even officially together, and Martín shouldn’t be this sad. But he is. He’s sad because he’s losing the only person he ever wanted to open up to. He’s losing a really good friend, because— because he’s a coward. Because he’s a guy.

But the worst thing is that Andrés waited to tell him, that he didn’t just do it last time they were together, when he talked about it over the phone. Did he torture Martín on purpose, made him suffer before finally turning him down?

The auto-pilot turns off when he’s about to knock on Andrés’ door, and he has to think very hard and long to force his hand to actually do it. When Andrés opens, he has a serious look on his face, and Martín’s stomach drops even further. 

“Come in.”

Martín steps inside, doesn’t care to take off his shoes. Andrés continues into the living room, but Martín lingers in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, nails digging into his palms. 

Andrés is so beautiful, why can’t he just stop being beautiful for one second?

“You should probably sit down.”

Martín shakes his head. He tries to prepare himself for the blow, but something about Andrés always made it hard for him to keep up his facade for very long, and this moment is no exception. All he wants is to get this done so he can escape, and have a mental breakdown somewhere else.

“You should just— get it over with,” Martín says in a small voice. 

Andrés looks a little confused. 

“Get it over with? I’m not following.”

Martín’s throat is clenching, and he can’t believe Andrés is making _him_ say it.

“That you don’t want to—” he swallows, twice, around the lump, “—see me anymore.”

His facade is slowly crumbling, Andrés is just a blurry image in front of him.

“What?” There’s a short pause before Andrés’ expression changes completely. “Shit. No, no.”

Martín makes the mistake of blinking, causing the tears to roll down his face. He wipes them quickly away with his sleeve.

“I get it,” he says with a sob.

“Martín.” Andrés approaches him, slowly. 

Martín shakes his head. “I’ll just—”

“Martín, listen. Shit. You thought that was why I wanted to talk to you?”

He just stares at Andrés.

“I’m sorry, Martín.” 

He is pulled into an awkward hug with his hands in his pockets, still unable to stop his quiet sobs. 

When Andrés lets go, his eyes are wet, too.

“I’m really sorry. It wasn’t— shit. I don’t want to end— _this._ ”

“You don’t?”

“No. I don’t.”

“But—” Martín’s thoughts are racing “I saw you with a girl.”

Andrés snorts, like a laugh without a smile. 

“Wow, I’ve been a complete idiot.” 

He pulls Martín in for another hug, nuzzling his neck. This time Martín pulls his hands out of his pockets and hesitantly wraps them around Andrés. Not tightly, because he doesn’t believe that he’s really there. Still. 

“I don’t understand,” Martín whispers into his shoulder. 

“I know, and it’s my fault. Let’s sit down.”

Martín sits down on the couch while Andrés pours them both a shot. Martín downs it instantly. He doesn’t understand, and he doesn’t know what to feel right now. It’s like his insides are a giant mess of emotions, whirling around inside him, not letting him feel any of them clearly.

He still feels like he’s slowly crumbling, but he also feels relieved. Most of all confused, like his brain has short-circuited. 

“What did you want to talk about then?”

Andrés sits down, not next to Martín, but at the table in front of him. He bites his lip, looking like he doesn’t know where to start. 

“I uh— I have to tell you something.”

Martín waits for him to continue.

“I’ve done some bad stuff earlier. Criminal stuff.”

Martín frowns. 

“Like what?”

“I’ve stolen stuff. And I’m not just talking about shoplifting. I’ve been involved in actual robberies.”

Martín raises his eyebrows, not sure how to respond to it.

“Robberies?”

It feels like his tone is way too casual for the topic of their conversation, but his brain can’t process the new information at the moment. 

“Yeah. That was kind of what I was doing before I moved here. And I thought that maybe I was done with it.”

“I’m sorry, but what kind of robberies are we talking about?” Martín asks when he takes the bottle and pours himself one more shot. This day is a little too eventful.

“It’s probably for the best if you don’t know. That stuff is in my past. But that’s the reason I was talking to my ex, the girl you saw me with yesterday. She was involved in some of it too before we broke up. She still keeps in touch with some of our earlier contacts, and one of them told her to pass a message to me. He needs me to do something for him.”

“What does he need you to do?”

“Steal something.”

“And what did you say?”

“It’s not like I have a choice, Martín.”

“You could say no.”

“It doesn’t work that way.” Andrés gets up and starts pacing the room, his tone is a little annoyed, like Martín doesn’t get it. “I owe him. I can’t just say no.”

“Oh, I’m sorry that I don’t know how the world of crime works.”

What the fuck should he respond? He doesn’t even know what to think about this. Andrés is a criminal. He’s a thief. Until now he has just been an artist, but suddenly he’s a criminal. A criminal that Martín is involved with, that he has feelings for. 

Andrés stops in his tracks. 

“I know it’s a lot to take in.”

Martín can’t help but laugh. The situation is almost comical. He got here expecting to get dumped, but he didn’t, and now he’s dating a criminal. What the fuck.

He pours another two shots, and Andrés accepts one of them.

“I need your help,” Andrés suddenly blurts out.

“What? No. I’m not a criminal.” 

“I know.” He sits back down on the edge of the table, both hands resting in his lap. “Martín, trust me, I don’t _want_ to involve you. I’ve been around every other possibility, and you’re my very last option. Will you at least listen to me?”

“No. The answer is no. What could I possibly help you with? I’ve never stolen anything.”

“You’re really clever.” Andrés ignores the snorting sound Martín makes. “I need your help with the security system. You know your way around a computer, right?”

“I guess so, but I don’t—”

“I have access to the right hardware, I just need your brain to figure out what to do with it.” Andrés moves to the couch, nex to Martín. “Again, I don’t want to involve you, but I do need your help. I’m— fucked, to put it nicely, if I don’t get what he’s asking for.”

“What do you mean, fucked?”

Andrés shakes his head, looking away. “Don’t worry about that. Will you help me?”

Even though Andrés doesn’t answer his question, there’s no doubt what kind of fucked he’s talking about, judging from the tone of his voice and the pleading look when he asks Martín for help. It’s overwhelming, but he doesn’t have a choice, because he doesn’t want to be the reason anything happens to Andrés. If only he doesn’t have to get too involved. 

“I’m not saying yes, but what would I have to do, hypothetically?”

Based on the way Andrés’ eyes get wider for a second, showing a sign of surprise, he didn’t fully expect Martín to actually say yes. He disappears into the next room and reappears a few seconds later, holding a bunch of papers which he scatters on the table.

“These are the floor plans for the place, and this is the information I have on the security.”

“What kind of place is this? This isn’t much of a security system. Is this— a museum?”

“Look, I don’t want to involve you more than necessary, just focus on these plans.”

Martín sits back and shakes his head stubbornly. 

“Nope. It isn’t going to work like that. I’m not going to help you if you won’t tell me what we’re doing.”

Damn, what we’re doing, he is already way too involved. 

“You don’t get it,” Andrés says and stands up next to him. “It’s for your own protection. I’m keeping you out of it to keep you safe.” 

“Then I’m not doing it.”

He crosses his arms, and Andrés makes a frustrated gesture with his arms. 

“Martín.” He tries to keep his voice calm, but the frustration is bubbling under the surface. “Don’t be stubborn. I’m protecting you. I don’t want to destroy your future just because I made a mistake.” 

“I’m sorry, Andrés, but I can’t help you if you won’t tell me anything. I can’t just look at those plans and figure everything out. I need to know where we are, geographically. What we’re dealing with. I risk miscalculating or making a mistake if I lack information, it’s too risky. I need all the factors.”

Andrés seems to think, but when he doesn’t offer an answer right away, Martín continues.

“I appreciate that you’re trying to protect me, but I’ll make my own decisions. I won’t forgive myself if I come up with a solution and it all goes to hell because I was lacking important information.”

Andrés pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out an exhausted sigh.

“Alright.”

Then he sits down next to Martín and starts talking.

“Do you remember the museum we visited? There’s this part of the building where they take the art when something needs to be done with it, when it has to be restored or sent somewhere else. My sources are telling me that the painting in question is there right now, which is why we have to act quick.”

Martín nods satisfied and leans forward to look at the plans in front of him. 

“Well, as I said before, the security system isn’t too complicated. I’m guessing they don’t expect people to know that there’s something to steal in that part of the building. Do you know how to get inside?”

“I do. As you said, they don’t exactly expect people to break in.”

“Good. I recommend you hack into the security system and loop the footage from the previous day. Old trick, but it works, and you don’t have to actually cut the power.”

When Martín looks up from the plans to Andrés’ face, he’s smiling softly. 

“Do you know how to do that?”

“I can figure it out easily if you have the hardware. I know I said I wasn’t a criminal, but uh— I might have tried my luck with some hacking earlier when I needed to help my roommate with his grades. I’m pretty sure I know how to do it if I can have a look at it first.”

“I knew you were the right person to ask.” 

Andrés sounds so proud of him, and Martín doesn’t know how to respond to that. He just shrugs. Seems like he made his decision.

“It requires me to go with you, though.”

“What?”

“I can’t just hack into their systems from here, I have to go with you. I have to be near the place to gain access, and when you’re back, I have to get everything back to normal before we leave.”

“Okay. Okay, that makes sense. Shit, I didn’t think about that. Okay, so you’ll be in the car outside and take care of the security system. We only have two days before they move the art. Do you think that will be enough time?”

“I think so. Depending on when you can get access to the hardware.”

“I can do that tomorrow.”

“Shit.”

Martín leans back with a grin, folding his hands behind his head. 

“What the fuck am I doing?”

“I hate to ask you to help me with this.”

“If I didn’t want to get involved, I would have said no.”

Martín knows too well that he wouldn’t have refused, no matter what, and Andrés knows it, too. He’s not sure what would happen to Andrés if he didn’t get the painting, but it doesn’t sound like something good. 

“I still hate it,” Andrés says and takes his hand. 

They sit in silence for a while, when Martín asks.

“So this was the reason you were acting weird the last couple of days?”

“I guess it was. I’m sorry, Martín. I can’t believe I made you think—”

Martín interrupts him.

“I was just being stupid. You wouldn’t even have to tell me that we needed to talk, it’s not like we’re in a relationship or something. We never even talked about it.”

Andrés folds his legs up on the couch and turns to Martín. 

“Maybe we should.”

“We don’t have to.”

He says it not so much because he doesn’t want to talk about it, but because he isn’t used to talking about stuff. About feelings, in particular.

“You’re not really used to talking about things like this, are you?”

Shit, how does Andrés read him like an open book?

He shakes his head.

“We never really talked much at home, I guess. I don’t know how to do it. As I said, I'm a mess."

"You're not a mess. Let me start then. I like you, Martín."

He feels a flutter in his chest when Andrés says those words, and his cheeks heat up. He wants to respond, he really does, but his brain refuses to function when he opens his mouth, so he closes it again and takes Andrés' hand instead. 

"You like me too, right? The way you reacted when you thought I wouldn't see you anymore."

"I'm sorry about that."

Martín keeps staring down at their hands. 

"You have nothing to be sorry about."

He bites his lip.

"But you're right, I—" he forces himself to look into Andrés' eyes "I like you, too."

He's glad that he chose to look at Andrés because the way his smile suddenly reaches his eyes is a wonderful sight. Andrés puts his arm behind Martín, letting his fingers run through the hair on his neck. 

"It's not like we have to label this, uh, this thing between us. I know it’s all new to you, and the same goes for me. There’s no reason to rush anything. But I need you to know that I don't want it to end. And I need you to understand that I enjoy your company. I like being with you."

Martín leans into the touch and closes his eyes.

"Thank you."

He sighs, wishing he could say something else because _thank_ you doesn’t quite cover it. There are so many words inside him right now, so much he wants to tell Andrés. A giant ball of feelings is pressing inside his chest, but he doesn't know how to form the right words. 

"I'm really bad at this."

Andrés kisses him gently on his ear, then on his cheek.

"Don't worry. Take your time."

When Martín turns his head to face Andrés, their lips meet in a slow kiss, and Martín feels like his chest could burst at any minute.

If he could only understand what he was feeling, it would be easier to tell Andrés about it.

Andrés straddles him and deepens the kiss. Martín lets his hand slide under Andrés’ shirt, feeling the soft skin on his back, the firm muscles moving when he slides a bit down, and starts kissing Martín's neck. He has to let go when Andrés pulls Martín's shirt over his head. Soon he slides further down and starts kissing his chest, down his stomach, and Martín's hands are feeling restless. 

When Andrés is on his knees on the floor in front of Martín, working on his fly, Martín's heart starts racing, because fuck— 

Andrés keeps eye contact, and without opening his pants, he starts rubbing his erection. The little smirk when Martín moans from the touch makes a shiver run through Martín's body. He drags Martín's pants down and just— stares at the bulge in Martín's boxers, so damn hungrily that Martín has to close his eyes for a while. They snap open again when he feels Andrés' hot mouth on his dick, mouthing him through the fabric, and fuck this shouldn't feel so good.

His body makes an involuntary move pressing his erection to Andrés’ mouth, making him pin Martín's hips onto the couch with firm hands.

"Sorry," Martín mutters, cheeks burning and out of breath.

Andrés looks up at him with darkened eyes and a wicked smile. 

"Fuck, Martín, you make me crazy." His hand slides between Martín's legs and starts caressing his balls. Martín's mouth is half-open, and he doesn't remember how to close it. "The way you respond to my touch, it's—" he shakes his head, thinking "—I feel so powerful."

"You are," Martín breathes. Andrés grasps his erection through his boxers, a little rough, and Martín whimpers. A small wet spot is already forming on his boxers. 

"Please, Andrés."

"What do you want?"

Andrés runs his thumb over the wet spot, and shit, this man is going to be the death of Martín. He starts tugging at the waistband of his boxers, but Andrés bats away his hand. 

"Tell me what you want."

"Take them off."

Andrés hums and pulls the boxers down way too slowly. When Martín looks down he sees Andrés’ head inches away from his dick. He draws in a sharp breath.

"Fuck. Please. Take it in your mouth."

Not even a second passes before the feeling of Andrés' lips around his dick makes Martín fall back and moan loudly. The mouth disappears once again.

"Look at me."

Martín sits up and tries to focus on Andrés, who once again takes him into his mouth. It's the best sight Martín has ever seen in his entire life. Andrés is working on him, so concentrated, from time to time locking eyes with Martín to make sure that he's still looking. 

And he is, he isn't able to look away now. 

Andrés is clearly playing around, he’s probably never done this before, and now he takes his time experimenting with different techniques and seeing which reaction they get from Martín. Martín enjoys it very much, but almost most of all he enjoys seeing how much _Andrés_ enjoys it. 

Martín’s pleasure builds inside him, but Andrés is still just playing.

Martín needs to touch him. He reaches to run a hand through his hair, tugging gently at it. 

“Andrés,” he pants, and he means to tell him to go faster, but the words that come out of his mouth are: “You’re so beautiful.”

Andrés looks into his eyes and then he hollows his cheeks and _sucks_ , and Martín clenches his fist in Andrés’ hair.

“Fuck! Fuck, Andrés.”

Despite his lack of words Andrés seems to understand, he begins moving his head at a steady pace. Martín feels the escalating pleasure inside him, and soon he has to tug at Andrés’ hair.

“I’m gonna come,” he warns, and Andrés lifts his head, letting go of Martín’s dick to wrap his hand around it. It doesn’t move, it stays firmly around Martín’s hard dick, and he's just about to start begging, in need of friction, when he feels it. His orgasm building inside him, the feeling so overwhelming and _way too fucking slow_ , when he clenches one hand in Andrés’ shirt, the other one desperately scrambling to hold onto the couch. And then he finally feels it in his dick, Andrés must have felt it too because he squeezes it slightly, and it hits him so hard that he has to squeeze his eyes shut when he comes on his own stomach, completely out of control of the sounds he’s making. 

He’s smiling when he finally opens his eyes again because he’s never experienced anything like that. 

Andrés quickly wipes his stomach, as if he’s in a hurry, and crawls back up to straddle him once again. Martín’s arms are slightly shaky when he places his hands on Andrés’ ass and pulls him closer, enjoying the very hard bulge in his pants against his stomach.

Martín feels the desperation in Andrés’ kiss when he unzips his pants to free his erection. It doesn’t take a lot of strokes before Andrés starts panting and moving needily, and Martín revels in the knowledge that Andrés enjoyed to suck him off. That he got hard with Martín’s dick in his mouth, and it’s kind of amazing to think about. 

It hits him, right there, that maybe Andrés wants him as much as he wants Andrés. Maybe not forever, just right now, and that’s what matters. 

When Andrés comes, Martín clings to him in an attempt to hold onto this moment, because this is the first time he remembers his feelings being reciprocated.


End file.
